


Behind Closed Doors: The Prince's Tale

by Allyswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 59,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allyswrites/pseuds/Allyswrites
Summary: "Was it worth it? ... No." Severus Snape's life, from his point of view. (originally posted on fanfiction.net, under the author name L8rose)





	1. Hogwarts: Years 1-3

**Author's note:** Welcome to Behind Closed Doors: The Prince's Tale! This story is told from Severus Snape's point of view and will cover moments from his own Hogwarts years through the summer before the Trio's seventh year. This was originally posted on fanfiction.net, under the author name L8rose; because of this, there may be some formatting issues, although I'll try to make sure that things are working smoothly.  
**Warnings:** Swearing and abuse  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.  


### Hogwarts: Years 1-3

  
**October 1971: First Year**  


It seemed like every time Severus Snape was looking forward to something, he ended up disappointed. He had been so excited to come here. His mother had spoken about Hogwarts—only when his father wasn't around—and he'd had it in his head that wizarding school would be some kind of safe haven, a place he could do magic and be around other people who did magic and possibly be, God forbid, _happy._

He tried to remind himself that there was some improvement: the magic, of course, and there was no Tobias—no father to stagger in drunk at 3 a.m. and drag Severus out of bed and yell until his ears rang, and sometimes, on especially bad nights, use him as a punching bag. As a safe haven, though, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry met only two of the three criteria. He was only one month in, but he already knew that there was no chance he could find happiness in this place. The reason could be summarized in five words: James Potter and Sirius Black.

It was hard to remember that Hogwarts was better than Spinner's End when Potter and Black went out of their way to make his life a living hell.

Potter and Black were both in Gryffindor House, as well as, sadly, Severus's best and only friend Lily Evans. He and Lily had met Potter and Black on the Hogwarts Express, where the two boys had been incredibly obnoxious. They had wasted no time in nicknaming him "Snivellus," which Severus—understandably—despised. He didn't _snivel._

But exchanging insults wasn't enough for the Gryffindors. They also liked to trip Severus, push him down the stairs, knock his books out of his arms, and sabotage his attempts in practical lessons any way they could. If they managed to get a hold of it, they also liked to rip up his homework. That one had been particularly unpleasant to learn the hard way. He had started carrying his homework around in his pockets.

To make matters worse, Potter and Black had picked up a couple of cronies, two other Gryffindors first-years named Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. Lily had once commented that Lupin and Severus were alike, both being quiet and studious, but she had taken it back when she saw the murderous look on Severus's face. Pettigrew and Lupin were more reserved than Potter and Black, which just meant that they were content to do whatever the other boys told them. On the flip side, Severus had nobody in his own House upon whom he could call for backup.

 _Better than Spinner's End, better than Spinner's End,_ Severus chanted in his head as a shout of "There goes greasy Slyther-y Snivelly!" followed him down the hall.

**January 1972: First Year**  


Insofar, Severus didn't care much for his Head of House. It wasn't that Professor Slughorn was nasty, but he was negligent, at least from Severus's view. He had actually tried to talk to Slughorn about the situation with Potter and Co.—after they had destroyed his Charms essay, one of the first assignments after the Christmas break—and the Slytherin Head had been unconcerned. "School rivalries are a rite of passage," the man had said unhelpfully, giving Severus a pat on the back, as if that were encouraging. "It's only natural."

It seemed that the only time Severus could get Professor Slughorn to take him seriously was in Potions class, which the Slytherin Head taught, and which happened to be Severus's favourite subject. He was drawn to the methodical act of preparing ingredients, and watching them bubble in the cauldron, and he enjoyed the precision of potion-making; one mistake might literally cause an explosion, as half of the class regularly ended up proving.

This attentiveness in Potions was what got Severus a bit of notice. From some of the older children, he had heard that Slughorn had a tendency to "collect" students who showed promise, and he was determined to make himself worth collecting.

**March 1972: First Year**  


"They shape-shift. One can never completely understand or defeat them because their very nature is elusive."

What guidance Severus didn't find in Professor Slughorn, he found in one of the seventh-year Perfects: Lucius Malfoy had taken a personal interest in him. Why exactly, Severus couldn't imagine—Lucius was confident, charismatic, good-looking, popular, and from an old, wealthy, pureblood family, whereas Severus was sullen, bookish, insecure, bullied, financially disadvantaged, and a half-blood—but he wasn't about to question it. He idolized Lucius.

The older boy had invited him to spend the Easter holiday at Malfoy Manor. As grand as the whole estate was, Severus's favourite room was the library. The Malfoys had all sorts of rare books that couldn't even be found in the restricted section at Hogwarts, and he didn't need a permission slip to gain access to them. Even better, Lucius was quite happy to answer any questions that Severus had as he browsed the shelves, especially questions pertaining to the Dark Arts.

Because, thanks to Tobias, he had grown up in what was essentially a muggle household, Severus had never gotten a chance to learn much about the Dark Arts, beyond the awareness of their existence. Fortunately, Lucius was particularly knowledgeable about this branch of magic, and he seemed happy to feed Severus's fascination.

**June 1972: First Year**  


Much to his satisfaction, he got the highest marks in his year. While everybody else had moaned about taking exams, and how hard they were, and how they only got harder, Severus had smugly said that they weren't hard if you just _studied._ Needles to say, the comment hadn't won him any friends.

Lucius had graduated that year and was off to work at the Ministry, "to establish connections—not that I don't already have plenty." He had promised to write, but that still left Severus alone in Slytherin House. Even with his roommates, he had had only minimal interaction. With Lucius around, that had suited him just fine, but having nobody in his House who accepted him in the coming years sounded absolutely miserable. The other snakes tended to make him feel like he was fundamentally a "less-than," despite the fact that he had gotten the attention of one of Slytherin's top students.

Of course, there was still Lily. They would probably spend a lot of time together over the summer. Although they had stayed friends despite the legendary Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry, they didn't get to see each other as much as before, as was the nature of being in different Houses.

Things with Potter and Black hadn't improved any, but on the upside, Lily didn't like the two boys either. This seemed especially merciful when it became obvious that Potter and Black were hung-up on getting her attention, maybe just because she wouldn't give them time of day.

And there was one other upside: Severus had learned how to fight back.

**July 1972: Summer**  


Lucius Malfoy kept his promise, and he and Severus corresponded regularly. Tobias didn't like the flying messengers very much; then again, as Severus had once said to Lily, his father didn't like anything much. Lucius, when Severus told him this, was entirely sympathetic, due to Tobias's muggle status.

**August 1972: Summer**  


"He's not going back to that place!" _Crash,_ the sound of glass being swept off the table and shattering on the floor. There was probably alcohol running down the tile now, although maybe not. The bottle might have been empty already.

"What does it matter where he goes if he's gone nine months of the year?" Pleading, coaxing.

"Because I know what he's doing there!" Tobias's words were still intelligible, despite the heavy slurring.

"You can just pretend it's a regular boarding school."

"But I _know_ what he's doing there, and I don't want any of it around me!"

"He has to go, he's a wizard!" Eileen yelled back.

The scrape of a chair being shoved roughly backwards. " _And whose fault is that, you stupid bitch!_ "

"He's going back, and you can't stop him!"

"Yes I can, _dammit!_ He's my son, this is my house, and I'm in charge!"

Severus jumped when he heard angry footsteps climbing the stairs. He scrambled up from his bed and ran to the door, double-checking that it was locked; for good measure, he also blocked it with his trunk. The inside lock he had installed a few years ago, after one of his father's particularly violent nights.

"Severus!" There was the sound of Tobias grabbing the handle and shaking it. " _Severus!_ "

He backed himself into a corner of the room, the one farthest from the door that his father was trying to break through. It didn't really matter that he'd be trapped there if Tobias did get in; he was trapped anyway.

"Open the door, you stupid boy!" _Bang, bang, bang,_ Tobias's fists on the wood made it shake.

Severus didn't answer. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on thinking about absolutely nothing.

"God, you're useless! Are you deaf? I said _open the fucking door!_ "

Everything would be fine if he could block out his surroundings, if he could clear his mind and just ignore his fear and his father's verbal abuse. If he could just shut down his emotions.

Eventually, Tobias seemed to grow bored of standing outside his son's bedroom and degrading him. Still, the sound of footsteps retreating—no less angry than they had been before—didn't entice Severus from his corner. It wasn't until the front door slammed that he uncurled from the tight ball he'd unconsciously rolled himself into.

 _I'm getting out of this place if it's the last thing I do,_ he thought, not for the first time and not for the last, as he crawled back into bed and tried to fall asleep.

 **September 1972: Second Year**  
He was standing on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, despite his  
father's opposition. It had taken another big argument, a few hits with  
the belt for him, and his mother had gotten a black eye, but Severus and  
Eileen were in silent agreement that the pain was worth it.

In a rare display of physical affection, Eileen hugged him before he  
boarded the train. "Work hard," she whispered, and sent him off.

"Oh, there you are," Lily greeted Severus with a bright smile. "Let's go  
find a compartment. We're early enough that we should be able to find  
one with room for two."

She pushed open the door on their nearest left. They peered in.

"All right, Snivellus? Did you vacation in a sewer, or do you just think  
it's cool to look like you're allergic to soap?"

Lily closed the door with a bit more force than was necessary. "But not  
that one," she said hastily, while Potter and Black roared with laughter  
on the other side.

**December 1972: Second Year**  


Severus sat on his bed in the Slytherin dorm room, propped up against the pillows with his legs tucked underneath him. He had the curtains pulled shut as he penned a letter to Lucius, using his Herbology textbook to support the piece of parchment on his lap. It was easier to correspond now, during the school year, when he had the school owls at his disposal and didn't have to make one of the Malfoys' wait around for a response.

" _Errant ingredients keep 'accidentally' ending up my cauldron during Potions with the Gryffindors,_ " Severus wrote. " _The results are spectacularly disastrous. Professor Slughorn knows about it, but he won't do anything. I don't want this to happen during the exam. Any advice?_ "

Lucius owled back the next day with instructions for a simple warding charm. In his post-script, he said, " _Give this a try. Those Golden Gryffindors won't know what hit them. Consider this your practical introduction to the Dark Arts._ " Below that, there was another diagram, this one explaining the effects of a particularly nasty-looking hex and how to cast it.

A week later, Severus used the hex against Potter, and the arrogant swine ended up in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey only kept Potter for half a day, but it gave Severus a thrill nonetheless. Black had been too concerned with getting his friend medical attention to retaliate, and Pettigrew never did anything not dictated to him by somebody else, and Lupin didn't actively participate in the bullying anyway; thus, this marked the first time that Severus had ever won a fight with the "Marauders"—as they had christened themselves—because two or three against one was hardly fair. It was absolutely worth the detentions he got from his Head of House.

Severus also discovered that the use of a Dark spell was all it took to make some of his fellow Slytherins respect him, or at least not scorn him for being a half-blooded nobody. Three of the other snakes had come up to him after the incident, asking if the rumour was true, if he had used a Dark spell on the Potter boy. Surprisingly, they had been almost friendly.

**July 1973: Summer**  


Severus, Lily, and Lily's mother were in Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies for the upcoming year. Severus had again managed to get top marks in all of his exams, although Lily came close to beating him in Charms. She was quite adept at the subject, making her one of Professor Flitwick's favourites.

"Remember the first time you got on a broomstick, Sev?" Lily grinned at him as they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, where the latest model in the Nimbus line was displayed in the front window.

"How could I forget?" Severus grumbled. "All of those school brooms, and of course, I end up with the one that acts like it's possessed."

"I still can't believe you managed to mount that thing. It was bucking all over the place! Anybody else would have given up and requested another broom."

"Muggles have one thing right: Brooms should be used for sweeping floors, not as a method of transportation. And they _definitely_ shouldn't be used for violent games like Quidditch."

"You're awfully smug when Slytherin wins the Quidditch matches, though."

"I like to win."

They went into Flourish and Blotts, their last stop of the day. Severus had purchased his books earlier—from the second-hand bookshop, to his embarrassment—but Lily still needed hers.

"I'm so excited for our electives," Lily commented as she picked up the required text for Care of Magical Creatures.

"I wish you were taking Arithmancy." On Lucius's recommendation, Severus was taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, while Lily was taking Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures.

"We do share the one elective, and I bet we'll even be in the same class. They like putting Gryffindors and Slytherins together."

Severus grimaced. It was for this reason that he hoped Potter and Co. weren't taking the same electives as him. With any luck, they'd chosen courses in which they could probably slack off, like Divination or Muggle Studies.

As they were exiting the store, Lily walking slightly ahead and asking her mother if they could stop in at Fortescue's for ice cream before heading home, somebody called to Severus: "Hey. Snape!"

He turned. "Hello, Rosier," he said uncomfortably. Evan Rosier was one of his roommates at Hogwarts, but people stopping to greet him when they spotted him in a crowd wasn't something that he was accustomed to, unless it was to yell at or curse him.

"Your summer going well?"

"Well enough. And yours?"

"Dad got in a bit of trouble for fighting with a muggle"—Rosier said this as though he very were proud of the fact—"but it's all straightened out now. Other than that, the holiday's been boring."

"Come on, Sev," came Lily's voice from behind him. "Mum says yes to getting Fortescue's. Maybe we'll see Alice there. She said she sometimes helps out at the shop during the summer."

Rosier wrinkled his nose, looking between Severus and the red-haired Gryffindor girl. "Isn't she a Mud-"

"Muggle-born?" Severus interrupted, loudly, trying to cover up Rosier's use of the racist name. "Yes, she is. Why, do you have a problem with that?"

"No, not at all." But the look that Rosier gave Lily suggested he thought otherwise.

Lily frowned and opened her mouth, most likely to give the other boy a piece of her mind. Before she could, Severus said, "See you in September" and steered Lily away.

"What was that about?" Lily hissed, under her breath, so Mrs. Evans wouldn't hear. She had been standing too far away to pick up on the near-altercation.

Severus whispered back, "Nothing. Pretend it never happened."

Lily tried to pursue the subject, but he followed his own advice and pretended that it had never happened.

**August 1973: Summer**  


Severus winced as Lily dabbed at the blood with a wet cloth.

"So how did this really happen?" she asked, her brow furrowed in a frown. "I know it wasn't what you told my parents."

"The usual. Tobias." His voice came out nasally. He had told Mr. and Mrs. Evans that he broke his nose in a scrap with some other boys on Spinner's End. Given that Spinner's End was one of the most sketchy places in Cokeworth, and Severus didn't exactly project the image of being the trustworthy sort, it was a believable story.

"He's mad, huh?"

"He's always mad."

"But now he's _really_ mad."

Severus shrugged.

"Why?" Lily pressed.

Another shrug. "Doesn't want me to go back to Hogwarts." _The same as last summer,_ he added silently.

He hadn't told Lily about the arguments of the previous August; he preferred to keep the gory, humiliating details to himself whenever possible. Tonight, though, it was late, and he was injured, and he wasn't going to go lick his wounds when his father was still at home. This episode had included both him and his mother, and after Tobias had punched him, Severus had run out. He felt a bit guilty for leaving Eileen to fend for herself, but she did it while he was at school, so it was okay. That's what he told himself, anyway.

Lily seemed to know that he didn't want to talk about what happened. "I've cleaned it up. Do you want me to put a plaster on it...?" she trailed off uncertainly.

"No, that's fine. Thanks."

"You should go to a doctor. It'll heal crooked otherwise."

"I don't care. I'm not going to a doctor."

She frowned again. "Well, spend the night here, at least. You shouldn't go back to that house."

"I wouldn't want to go back," Severus muttered, averting his eyes.

The bathroom door, which was half-shut, swung open.

" _You!_ " Petunia screeched, pointing her forefinger at Severus. Then she turned furiously to look at her sister. "What are you two doing in here?" Apparently she had failed to notice Severus's misshapen nose—or maybe she just thought that it looked normal—and the blood-stained cloth in Lily's hand.

"We're plotting world domination over bothersome muggles like you," Severus deadpanned, finding it impossible to sneer in his current state.

" _Sev!_ "

"You- you-" Petunia's jaw worked up and down. "Freaks!" she finally spat out, before turning on her heel and stalking off.

Lily crossed her arms. "Sev!" she admonished again.

"I was only joking." He paused. "Can I still stay here tonight?"

She glared at him for a moment, and then rolled her eyes, relenting. With a small smile, she said, "As long as you promise not to terrorize my sister any more."

**November 1973: Third Year**  


"Sirius Black says that you know more Dark spells than all of the seventh years combined." There was an accusatory note in Lily's voice.

Severus bristled. "Do you believe all the rubbish that Sirius Black spews?" he asked defensively.

"No, but there is some truth to it, isn't there? You _are_ dabbling in Dark Magic."

"It's mostly theory that we're interested in."

"You shouldn't be interested in _any_ of it. And who's 'we?'"

"A few of the other boys in Slytherin and I. It's a common interest."

"I don't think that the Dark Arts is a good hobby to bond over. That stuff is really dangerous, not to mention half of it is _illegal._ "

"Don't worry. We have everything under control."

**January 1974: Third Year**  


_Dear Severus,_

_Work at the Ministry is crawling along, and Merlin, I swear that the majority of my coworkers don't have two brain cells to rub together. Nothing gets done around here. I am so sick of being somebody's subordinate; when I'm in charge, there will be none of this endless, tiresome indecision._

_In a vein of more exciting news, I've started courting Narcissa Black. She's Sirius Black's cousin. We were in the same year at Hogwarts, so you probably saw her around, although you might not remember her. She's beautiful: Tall, slim, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She isn't bad company, either. The only things that I don't like about her are her sisters. The first, Bellatrix, seems somewhat unhinged, and the second, Andromeda, married some Mudblood and has been burned off of the Black family tapestry. Disgraceful, I know._

_How did you fare in your Arithmancy and Ancient Runes exams? Runes was always a favourite of mine._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. I have recently been recruited by an organization which practices the Dark Arts and helps to ensure that bloodlines stay pure. I think you're a bit young for it now, but perhaps you will be interested later. We call ourselves the Death Eaters._


	2. Hogwarts: Year 4

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings: **Swearing  
** **   
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 540-541 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.  


### Hogwarts: Year 4

_**July 1974: Summer**  
_

Full of curiosity, Severus had questioned Lucius relentlessly about the "Death Eater" group that the latter had mentioned. Through pen and paper—well, ink and parchment—Lucius had been strangely evasive with his answers, and he had finally invited Severus to Malfoy Manor again to "discuss it face-to-face. It is better that way." Privately, Severus thought that Lucius just enjoyed dangling the details in front of him, but he didn't voice this theory.

Lily was less than pleased when he told her where he was going.

"Lucius Malfoy?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Why would you want to spend time with him? He's an arrogant bigot."

"You can't say that," Severus argued. "You don't know him."

"I remember him somewhat from when we were in first year, and I know what I've heard."

"From whom?"

"Sirius Black." Like that would make him concede her point. "Lucius Malfoy is dating Black's cousin Narcissa. Black spent a month complaining to anybody in the common room who would listen about how, if they got married, he'd be related to the Malfoys."

Severus sneered. "Because Sirius Black is a wholly reliable source of information."

"I'm just saying that I've heard stuff," Lily said coolly, not responding well to being sneered at. "How long are you staying there?"

"Four days."

"Four days? You're spending _four days_ alone with Lucius Malfoy?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "He's not going to turn me into a squirrel. And I spent Easter break of first year at the Manor, remember? We're- friends." He stumbled over the word. It seemed odd to apply it to anybody other than Lily.

"Once was enough. I don't trust him, and you shouldn't either."

"You worry too much."

He was glad that he hadn't told Lily about the letters.

* * *

"… and in return, we get power and prestige. The Dark Lord hand-picks those whom he deems worthy of receiving the Mark."

Severus was intrigued. "Are the Death Eaters sort of like a family then?" he asked.

Lucius paused before saying, "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Do you have the Mark? May I see it?"

The blonde-haired wizard pulled back his left sleeve. On his forearm was a black tattoo of a skull; from the mouth of the skull came a serpent, which hung down and coiled around itself, mouth open, fangs displayed. "It is a great honour to be branded with the Dark Mark. Along with being a symbol of status, the Mark is how the Dark Lord communicates with us. We feel it in the Mark when he calls a meeting." Lucius re-covered the tattoo with the black fabric of his shirtsleeve.

"What are the meetings about?"

"Whatever matter takes the Dark Lord's fancy. At the most recent meeting, we discussed and commiserated the disappointingly-low number of true purebloods who are left in this world."

"Do you think I could become a Death Eater some day?"

"It is within the realm of possibility. The Dark Lord typically admits only purebloods, but I'm sure he could make an exception. You are very skilled at Potions, yes?"

The corners of Severus's mouth turned upwards in a smirk. "I'm one of the few people who knows what's going on in class," he said, eager to talk about his favourite branch of magic—his favourite _legal_ branch of magic. "I've even modified some of the instructions so that the potions can be brewed more efficiently. The textbooks are, well, terrible; there are flaws that are glaringly obvious. I've been able to cut down on things like brewing time or the quantity of ingredients necessary. But everybody else flaps round like chickens with their heads cut off. It's simple, and yet it's practically impossible to get through a class without some dolt blowing up their cauldron. It's a wonder that Slughorn is still employed with the amount of accidents in his classroom."

Lucius nodded approvingly, which gave Severus a thrill. "Keep that up and the Dark Lord would be foolish not to take you."

**November 1974: Fourth Year**  


" _Steleus!_ "

Severus simultaneously ducked out of trouble's way and pulled out his wand. " _Protego!_ " he yelled. The shield went up just in time to redirect another burst of light to Peter Pettigrew, who promptly topped over, hit by _Petrificus Totalus._

Black paused when he heard his friend thump to the ground. Shifting his stance to look over at Pettigrew's inert form, he muttered, "Shit."

Before Black could undo the Body Bind, Severus said, " _Levicorporus_ " and Black was hoisted into the air, dangling from some invisible string attached to his back. Although Severus had been playing around with that spell for a while, this was the first time he'd used a human test subject. He still had some adjustments to make—he wanted the victim to hang upside-down from their ankle, he wanted it to work nonverbally, and he wanted it to be irreversible except by a specific counter-curse—but no doubt the Marauders would give him plenty of opportunity to try it again.

"How very Slytherin," Black spat, arms and legs flailing wildly, making him look like someone drowning but without the water, "to curse somebody when their back is turned."

"Don't turn your back if you don't want to get cursed then," Severus remarked snidely. " _Accio. _" There was a pause, during which he worriedly thought that his Summoning Charm wasn't going to work—technically, they didn't learn that until the next term—and then Black's wand zoomed into his hand. "I suppose this is why you typically only fight when your _pack_ is around. Where is Potter anyway? _Dog_ -sitting?"__

Pettigrew whimpered as he tried to speak against the Body Bind.

"Yeah, well, at least I have friends! You're just some greasy little creep who's- _oof!_ " The spell wore off abruptly and dumped Black face-down in the grass. He scrambled to his feet, looking like he was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Tell Lupin to have fun tomorrow." Severus tossed the Gryffindor's wand up in the air and caught it.

"Give me back my wand!" Black didn't charge forwards as Severus was expecting. Apparently even he knew that the Slytherin had the upper hand. "What are you on about, Snivellus?"

"Oh, it's just… I've heard that _moonlit_ parties are the best." He smirked.

Black seemed to realize what Severus was hinting at. "Well," he started furiously, "why don't you go press the knot at the base of the Whomping Willow tomorrow night? Maybe crawling down the tunnel there will satisfy your curiosity. Of course, if you're too much of a coward…."

"Sirius!" Pettigrew, upright and mobile again, looked horrified. For once in his pathetic life, he took some initiative: "C'mon, let's go."

"Did you hear what he just said?" Black turned his enraged look onto his Housemate. "Besides, Snivelly still has my wand!"

Severus threw Black's wand at him. It hit Black on the forehead. "Don't you ever call me a coward!" he snarled.

" _Coward!_ " Black repeated as Pettigrew forced him to retreat.

* * *

Severus would be damned if he let Black get away with calling him a coward—also, he was _very_ eager to know what exactly was at the end of the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

He saw nobody as he slunk through the dark corridors, dressed in his Hogwarts robes instead of pajamas. He moved noiselessly. Living with Tobias had taught him a few things: how to move without being heard, how to notice the smallest details, how to judge the atmosphere of a room, how to withstand pain, how to pull off deception.

It was ridiculous how easily students could sneak out, he mused as he walked. Heads of House didn't seem to care if their charges were out of bed after curfew, or at least Professor Slughorn didn't. Argus Filch, the caretaker, and his cat Mrs. Norris were known to patrol at night, but the castle was large and they couldn't be everywhere at once. Really, it was inviting mischief.

Severus sucked in a breath as he stepped outside into the cold. Mercifully, it was early in the month and there was no snow yet. He made his way to the Whomping Willow, which started lashing out as soon as he got close. Who knew a tree could be so obstreperous?

He scanned the bottom of the temperamental tree for the knot that, if Black was to be believed, was supposed to allow for a safe passage. _There,_ he spotted it. Frowning, he picked up a fallen branch and dropped to his stomach, crawling forward with his arm outstretched. After a few attempts, he managed to poke the knot with the stick. The violently-swinging limbs froze.

 _So Black is capable of more than spreading grossly-exaggerated rumours,_ thought Severus, taking out his wand and cautiously entering the low tunnel nestled among the roots of the tree.

" _Lumos._ " 

He continued, half bent over, until the passage sloped upwards. There was an opening up ahead, and the tiniest bit of light spilled from it, just enough to confirm that the end was close…

A hand grabbed him by the back of his robes and yanked him backwards, making him stumble. Too focused on his anticipation, he hadn't heard the person approach.

Turning his head to glare, he said, "What the hell, Potter!" He took offence at being manhandled like a common muggle.

Under his breath, Potter muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, "I'm going to kill you, Sirius."

"Let go of me!" Severus tried to twist out of the other boy's grasp, but the Gryffindor was surprisingly strong for a spoiled brat who had never had to lift a finger in his life.

"I'm telling you, you can't go down there!"

"You don't have any right to tell me where I can or can't go!"

"If you want to get mauled, then fine! Go back in! Serves you right!"

Out in the grounds again, the Willow still on pause, Professor McGonagall was moving swiftly towards them. Pettigrew followed closely behind his Head of House, and Black was nowhere to be seen.

" _Mister Snape! Mister Potter!_ " McGonagall shouted. She reached the two boys and dragged them away from the Willow. Her timing was impeccable: The tree chose the next moment to begin whipping around again.

"Mister Pettigrew said that you had gone out to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow on a dare set by Sirius Black." The Head of Gryffindor pinned Severus with what was probably her most fearsome glare, and, through his anger at the Marauders and his embarrassment that Potter had pulled him along by the back of his robes like a child, Severus felt sufficiently chastised. Professor McGonagall scared him much more than Professor Slughorn ever had. "Do you have any idea what might have happened to you had you succeeded? You would not be standing here right now, I can promise you that!

"Come. We are going to see the Headmaster."

* * *

After being debriefed by Professor McGonagall and getting both Potter's and Severus's sides of the story—they actually matched up for once—Headmaster Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at the three students.

"This is very serious," he began, only to be interrupted by Potter, who quipped, "Well it is Sirius's fault."

Severus rolled his eyes, while Pettigrew gave an exaggerated laugh. Severus noticed Professor McGonagall's mouth tighten in disapproval.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, ignored the Gryffindor boy's smart remark entirely. "I will be speaking with Mister Black about his actions in the morning. There is no sense in waking him now"— _Oh yes, he needs his beauty sleep,_ Severus almost snarked, catching himself just in time—"but I need to impress upon you the gravity of this situation. If word gets out and suspicions arise, it will ruin a Hogwarts career. Nobody else can know of what nearly transpired tonight."

"Is it true, sir, that Lupin is a werewolf?" Severus dared to ask, although he wasn't sure if he would get a straight answer, even if his theory were true. "Is that what was down there?"

"Yes. I need your word that you will not reveal this information to anybody."

The strength of the Headmaster's piercing blue gaze made Severus uncomfortable—it made him feel like the old wizard could see into his soul, or some other silly thing like that—but he found himself unable to look away. "Yes, sir," he promised somewhat reluctantly.

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment longer before nodding and saying, "Thank you, Mister Snape. I will hold you to that. Now I believe that is all, unless you have anything to add, Minerva?"

"Twenty points from each of you for being out after curfew." McGonagall paused thoughtfully. "And fifteen each to Mister Potter and Mister Pettigrew for helping a classmate and fetching a teacher in signs of trouble respectively. Let this be a lesson that one should neither issue reckless dares nor do something reckless because one was dared to. Now off you go, back to bed."

Severus did the math in his head, fuming. He forced himself not to sneer at the Transfiguration Professor. So Gryffindor lost a total of ten points, while Slytherin lost twice as much. Even with Black's punishment added in, Slytherin would probably come off worse, because that was just the way things worked. The Marauders were hell-raisers, but they were favoured, and, well, nobody liked Slytherins.

_Typical._

* * *

"People keep telling me that I you're going to bring me nothing but trouble, and I can't help but wonder if they're right to some extent."

Severus's stride faltered, and for a moment he held his breath. Then, moving forwards again, he said, "What do you mean? I thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends?"

"We _are,_ Sev," Lily replied, immediately soothing his anxiety, "but I don't like some of the people you're hanging around with. I'm sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! D'you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?" She stopped and leaned against a pillar.

"That was nothing." His words sounded lame, even to himself. "It was a laugh, that's all-"

"It was Dark Magic, and if you think that's funny-"

"What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?"

"What's Potter got to do with anything?"

"They sneak out at night. There's something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?" He was tempted to give Lily all the details about his—for lack of a better word—adventure, but his promise to the Headmaster kept him quiet. Although the man might seem kind, he wasn't somebody who Severus wanted to cross.

"He's ill," Lily insisted. "They say he's ill-"

But just because he wasn't supposed to tell anybody about Lupin's affliction outright, didn't mean he couldn't still hint at it. "Every month at the full moon?"

"I know your theory." She gave him a cool look. "Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they're doing at night?"

"I'm just trying to show you they're not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are," Severus defended himself."

"They don't use Dark Magic, though." When he opened his mouth to answer, she interrupted him in a low voice: "And you're being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you from whatever's down there-"

"Saved? _Saved?_ " Apparently, despite the Headmaster's warning, Potter had been strutting around as he was wont to do and spreading rumours that made himself the hero of the story, when in reality, the boy had only wanted to save his own ass from any blame that might come his way. Severus said as much to Lily, ending awkwardly, rendered incoherent by his anger, "You're not going to- I won't let you-"

_Shit. That came out wrong._

Lily's green eyes narrowed instantly, a spark of her own fury appearing in them. "Let me?" she repeated in a simmering tone of voice. " _Let_ —me?"

He backtracked: "I didn't mean- I just don't want to see you made a fool of- he… fancies you, James Potter fancies you!" There. That was what he'd been trying to articulate. /Ugh,/ the thought made him shudder. Even worse was the possibility that Lily might reciprocate the feeling.

"I know James Potter's an arrogant toerag," Lily informed him. "I don't need you to tell me that. But Mulciber and Avery's idea of humour is just evil. _Evil,_ Sev. I don't understand how you can be friends with them."

Severus was so filled with relief that Lily obviously did not fancy Potter that he barely heard or cared that she had denounced his friends in the next sentence.

**January 1975: Fourth Year**

_MYSTERIOUS ATTACK ON MUGGLE FAMILY_

_by Rizzo Stalwart_

_Things were not so peaceful in the countryside yesterday. The pristine white landscape was blood-splattered as a muggle family was mercilessly attacked and killed. The bodies of Jason Decker, his wife Audrey, and their sons Theodore and Patrick were found strewn in the kitchen by their next-door neighbour, mutilated almost beyond recognition. The Deckers' daughter Sylvia managed to escape this unprecedented yet brutal attack, as she currently attends Hogwarts. Aurors have identified the use of Dark Magic, but they have yet to catch the perpetrator._

When they met up by the lake later that day, Lily gave Severus a wide-eyed look, a hint of fear swirling around in her green eyes. "That could have been my family," she said, quietly and with a slight tremor in her voice.

Severus was at a loss for how to comfort her.

**June 1975: Fourth Year**  


The mood at Hogwarts had been dampened by the attacks—well, if you were not the Marauders. They actually seemed to get _more_ obnoxious, something Severus wouldn't have thought was possible, except that he had seen it and experienced it first-hand—which had been occurring sporadically since the start of the calendar year; by the third or fourth, the Dark Mark was appearing over the victim's house, green and luminescent. " _VOLDEMORT AND HIS DEATH EATERS WERE HERE_ " was found splattered across the front of one house, written in blood. That particular attack made the front page of _The Daily Prophet._

Severus still held the image of acceptance, belonging, and power that Lucius had painted for him in his head, and so he conveniently disregarded the attacks as unimportant; they must have been done for a reason, probably personal revenge, so it wasn't as if he would have to participate when he became a Death Eater.

At the Leaving Feast, Headmaster Dumbledore thanked everybody for another great year and wished them all a "happy and safe summer holiday," with a slight emphasis on the word "safe."


	3. Hogwarts: Years 5-6

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 470-476 of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ while writing this.  


### Hogwarts: Years 5-6

**August 1975: Summer**

A bottle had exploded over Severus's head as he ran for the door, accompanied by a shout of what he interpreted as, "Don't come back!"

"I only need to stay the one night," he said apologetically.

"Are you sure?" Lily eyed him with a worried expression on her face. "I'm sure you could stay for longer if you want. Tuney is off at a summer camp, so you won't have to worry about her."

"It's fine." He shrugged. "Tobias is drunk enough that he won't remember anything once he's sober. You can tell when his words become intelligible. I can go back tomorrow."

**March 1976: Fifth Year**

" _DEATH EATERS MASSACRE SINDHAM_ " read the front-page of _The Daily Prophet,_ accompanied by a photograph of the carnage. The Great Hall was soon filled with distressed voices:

"Merlin, that's awful!"

"Why did they do it?"

"I have family in Sindham!"

"Can you believe it?"

"But _why?_ "

Over at the Slytherin table, Mulciber shrugged. "Serves 'em right, doesn't it?"

Most of the snakes chose not to comment, but a few nodded in agreement. Others looked like they had differing opinions but knew they would be painting themselves as targets to say so.

As for Severus, he felt equal parts stunned and confused. While he didn't like muggles, he also didn't see the use in slaughtering an entire muggle village. This couldn't have been a revenge killing—that he could understand; he'd be lying if he said he hadn't had violent fantasies involving his father—which made him wonder, why bother?

* * *

_Dear Lucius,_

_As I'm sure you have already seen, the massacre in Sindham made the news: The front page of the_ Prophet, _and two more pages on top of that. Thus, everybody at Hogwarts is rather subdued today, even the teachers. A girl arrived late to Transfiguration, and all that Professor McGonagall said was, "Five points from Gryffindor. Take a seat." I don't think that anybody retained what they learned in class today, as half of the student population has been too busy bawling their eyes out. Professor Dumbledore gave a big speech about how we have to move on despite the tragedy. He said we're completely safe here at the school, but I think we may all drown in the tears of Hufflepuffs._

_I was just wondering, do all of the Death Eaters participate in raids? Were you there? And why was Sindham targeted specifically?_

_Regards,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_I did indeed see that. It was a brilliant article, don't you think? Had it not seemed pathetically sentimental, I might even have saved it. That was our first major raid, and it went off without a hitch._

_Though I speak in the plural, the answers to your first two questions are "no" and "no." Sadly, I was not chosen for that particular outing. As for Sindham, it was chosen because nobody with magical blood resides there. Perhaps the Dark Lord has a vendetta against the place, but if he does, I do not know of it. Either way, what is the loss of a few muggles?_

_It amuses me that even the fearsome lioness was shocked into silence. I would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Severus was reassured by the letter, to hear that not all the Death Eaters were chosen to go on raids. And of course, Lucius was right—the man hadn't gotten where he was by being wrong; what was a few muggles more or less?

**June 1976: Fifth Year**

Severus was studious under normal circumstances, but the time that he'd put into studying for O.W.L.s had exceeded his usual over-achieving efforts; unlike some he could name, he wasn't interested in just passing. Even when it was finished, he pored over the sheet of questions, mentally ticking off answers and worrying that he'd gotten one wrong.

This exam was no exception. Severus left his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. with his head still buried in the page, barely aware of his feet taking him outside. The only part of his surroundings to which he paid attention was Potter and Co., because he made a habit of keeping tabs on them at all times.

Once he was done obsessing, he got up and left the shade of the bushes, a favourite spot of his. He didn't make it halfway across the courtyard before he heard Potter call, "All right, Snivellus?"

In a single, well-practiced movement, Severus dropped his bag and pulled out his wand from the inside of his robes. But Potter had the advantage, his own wand already prepared, and Severus was easily disarmed.

Barking out a laugh, Black cast, " _Impedimentia!_ " and knocked Severus off his feet, successfully foiling his attempt to retrieve his fallen wand.

The fight attracted a large number of students, who watched with varying reactions. Bitterly, as he lay panting on the ground, Severus noted that his Housemates made no move to help him.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" Potter sneered.

"I was watching him," Black said, "his nose was touching the parchment. There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."

Severus struggled against the jinx as a ripple of laughter came from the spectators.

"You—wait," he spat out, meeting Potter's maliciously-gleaming brown eyes with his own smouldering black ones. "You—wait!"

"Wait for what?" Black taunted. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"

" _Silencio,_ you arrogant bastard, _Repurgare Capillos, Flipendo,_ fuck you, _Sectumsempra,_ you're a goddamn swine, _Amputo!_ " Due to the fact that his wand still lay in the grass ten feet away, Severus's incantations did nothing. Furiously, he promised himself that he would learn to do wandless magic some day if it killed him.

"Wash out your mouth," Potter said, unimpressed. " _Scourgify!_ "

Severus immediately began gagging as soap filled his mouth, frothing and tasting more vile than any potion that Madam Pomfrey had ever forced him to take.

From a bit farther away, he heard a familiar voice yell, " _Leave him alone!_ "

Knowing that Lily was watching made Severus's face flush. Her presence had the opposite effect on Potter, who suddenly sounded much more mature when he next spoke.

"All right, Evans?"

"Leave him alone." Severus could hear the glare in her voice. "What's he done to you?"

"Well, it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…."

 _The feeling is mutual,_ he wanted to say, but couldn't due to the mouthful of soapsuds.

"You think you're funny, but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him _alone._ "

"I will if you go out with me, Evans." Severus sputtered again, even though the bubbles were dying down. _The nerve...!_ "Go on, go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

To his relief, Lily said, "I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid."

"Bad luck, Prongs." Black clapped his friend on the shoulder, missing how Severus had begun inching towards his wand, the Impediment Jinx wearing off.

 _Sectumsempra,_ Severus cast silently, and a gash appeared on the side of Potter's face. The effect wasn't half as extreme as he would have liked to be. He would improve that later. At least he could do it nonverbally.

Potter wasted no time retaliating. " _Levicorpus!_ "

In the next second, Severus was upside-down in the air, hanging by his ankles from an invisible rope. His black robes fell over his head, obscuring his view of the crowd. It didn't matter. He could hear them anyway. Some of the students went so far as to cheer. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the heated emotions coursing through him, much like he did when he was trying to block out his father's abuse.

Still, despite his best attempts, thoughts bounced around his head: How dare Potter use his own spell against him? What else had escaped his secrecy? He was going to start writing his spells in his textbooks and then warding them. Maybe there was a way to make the book bite the fingers off of anybody who tried to touch it—or another part of the anatomy, which would be so much fun if it were one of the Marauders….

"Let him down!" Lily's demand brought him out of his head.

"Certainly," Potter said cockily, and Severus fell to a crumpled heap on the ground.

He disentangled himself from his robes and rose to his feet—and then Black said, " _Petrificus Totalus,_ " and he keeled over again.

It felt like the whole school had assembled in the background to watch his humiliation. He was never going to live this down. He would be the laughing stock of Slytherin. Again.

" _Leave him alone!_ "

Sounding possibly the sincerest that Severus had ever heard him, Potter said, "Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you."

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Sighing dramatically, Potter acquiesced, muttering the counter-curse and allowing Severus to clamber to his feet.

"There you go," Potter said, the nasty inflection back in his voice. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus."

Severus could see Avery and Mulciber in the front row of the watching students, grinning like idiots, finding his misfortune hilarious and the fact that a muggleborn girl had saved his ass even more hilarious, in a pathetic sort of way. His attention was still on his Housemates as he snarled the first thing that came to mind: "I don't need help from filthy Mudbloods like her!"

 _Fuck._ The expression on Lily's face instantly made him regret the words. "Filthy little Mudbloods" was a phrase often heard in the Slytherin common room, and he had chosen the worst possible time and place to try it out. It didn't give him any satisfaction.

"Fine," Lily said coolly. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus._ "

He felt like someone had stuck him to the ground with a Sticking Charm; he wanted to run over Lily and beg her to forgive him, but he couldn't make his legs work.

"Apologize to Evans!"

"I don't want _you_ to make him apologize." Lily rounded on Potter. "You're as bad as he is."

Through Severus's disbelief at himself, his anger rekindled at the thought of being lumped in the same category as James Potter.

"What? I'd _never_ call you a- you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me _sick!_ " To finish her irate monologue, Lily turned on her heel and stalked away.

"Evans! Hey, _Evans!_ "

But she didn't look back, and Severus couldn't go after her, because he was still frozen to the spot in horror at what had just transpired.

**August 1976: Summer**

Cobb & Webb's, Moribund's, Trackleshanks Locksmith, Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos… Severus took in the names of the shops around him. Compared to Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley seemed like a whole new world; whereas the former was bright and loud and full of life, the latter was dingy and dimly-lit, and the people there scurried around like they had something to hide. And they probably did.

This year marked the first time that Severus had gone back-to-school shopping alone. In the past, he'd gone with Lily and her family, but she hadn't spoken to him since the night he threatened to sleep outside the Gryffindor Tower, and he'd finally stopped trying to apologize. If she wanted to be like that, then fine. He didn't care—or he pretended not to. The solitude, though, allowed Severus to make a detour that Lily most certainly would not have approved of.

Lucius had recommended a bookshop, a small store called Metu's Tomes, which was located at the farthest end of Knockturn Alley. Metu's Tomes turned out difficult to find, as it was tucked between two larger and newer-looking establishments.

 _This place should have been condemned ten years ago,_ Severus thought as he shoved at the door. It took four tries before the rusty hinges finally gave way and let him in.

Metu's Tomes was possibly the most run-down thing that he had seen in Knockturn Alley, which really said something. The interior wasn't any better than the exterior: A single lamp cast a sickly, greenish-blue light. Spiders seemed to like the place very much. The air was damp, as if there were a hole in the roof and it had rained recently, and there was a distinct smell of mould and mildew.

Severus sighed inwardly. Lucius had spoken highly of the store's book selection, but Lucius hadn't warned him about how decrepit the store was. Probably because the Malfoy heir thought that it would be funny to hear Severus's first impressions, which were less than complimentary. Severus figured that this is what the house on Spinner's End might look like if left uninhabited for a quarter century.

"Well, well, well. And what brings you here? You're young to be venturing this way. So very, very young. You must have a good reason. They usually do."

A thin, balding man wizard sat hunched-over behind a small counter, which looked like it'd give you splinters if you touched it. For some reason, the man made Severus think of a twisted Garrick Ollivander, the Dr. Jekyll to Ollivander's Mr. Hyde, like in the muggle story.

"A friend recommended I come here," Severus said after a pause. "He said that this is the place to find books of an 'obscure and socially frowned-upon nature.' I've just come to browse."

The man, whom Severus assumed was Morrible Metu, grinned a wide, predatory grin. "That it is," he said silkily. "Browse away."

Feeling self-conscious with Metu's eyes on him, Severus stepped behind a tall, haphazard stack of books to read their titles. The books didn't seem to be in alphabetical order—or any sort of order, for that matter. _Ten Types of Untraceable Poisons, Necromancy and the Goblin Rebellion of 1622, Dark Arts for the Decidedly Deviant, Mind Arts-_

Severus's interest was piqued by the simple title and the gold lettering, which wasn't as faded as some of the others. He carefully removed the book from the pile. There was no picture on the cover, just " _The Mind Arts: Blocking Out and Breaking In_ " written in the same blocked script as was on the spine. He wrinkled his nose at the cloud of dust that appeared when he opened the book.

" _The Mind Arts is a highly-focused stream of magic,_ " said the preface, " _which can be divided into the two subcategories of Occlumency, the sub-titular 'blocking out,' and Legilimency, the sub-titular 'breaking in,' both of which are rarely innate and exceedingly difficult to learn, even for the most competent wizards and witches._ "

It seemed like a good book, Severus thought as he read on, if you ignored the author's pretention and winding sentences. Moreover, it seemed like a _useful_ book: " _A clear mind and the ability to maintain that clarity during times of stress is the most crucial step to becoming an Occlumens_ "—well, he had been trying to clear his mind in the face of his father's rages for as long as he could remember. Perhaps this book could help him out.

**September 1976: Sixth Year**

He had finally been invited to join the "Slug Club," as the students called the group. It wasn't as great as Severus had imagined it back in first year. When he was eleven, being "collected" by Professor Slughorn had seemed like a mark of worthiness; now, not so much. In fact, he had only attended a few of the meetings before opting out. He got the impression that he was at the bottom of the totem pole, the least favourite of Slughorn's favourites; to make matters worse, Lily Evans was definitely at the top of that totem pole, and she refused to do so much as glance at him.

* * *

_Dear Lucius,_

_Potions class bores me. I don't even pay attention anymore; it's not as though Professor Slughorn has anything to teach me. I've read every Potions book in the Hogwarts library, and now, instead of taking notes, I spend the duration of Slughorn's lectures coming up with ideas for new potions and spells. It seems like a better use of my time than listening to Professor Slughorn drone on. He seems as bad as Professor Binns now!_

_In other news, I am rejecting everything to do with the muggle portion of my heritage. It may seem silly, but I've christened myself "The Half-Blood Prince," because I'd rather think that I'm part of the Prince family than part of the Snape family. See, Eileen Prince was a pureblood before she married Tobias. (I don't understand why she did it. We're stuck with him now. He tells her that she's good for nothing, but he's one to talk. Apparently he hasn't looked in a mirror lately.) She probably got burned off of the family tapestry, like how you said the Blacks burned Andromeda off when she married that muggleborn._

_Speaking of the Blacks, congratulations to you and Narcissa on your engagement._

_Regards,_

_Severus_

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_Thank you for your congratulations. Cissa passes along her thanks, too. We are both very pleased with the arrangement, as are our respective families._

_It's a shame that sitting in Potions is such a waste of time. Perhaps you could take the N.E.W.T. early and be done with it. It might be worth asking Slughorn or McGonagall about, although whether or not they would understand how effective self-study can be is questionable._

_It is wonderful to hear that you have decided to shun muggles. You deserve your own congratulations for that; many never escape the delusion that muggles and wizards are equal. I support your decision wholeheartedly._

_On a similar note, I have been rising in the ranks of the Death Eaters and believe that I could get you an audience with the Dark Lord. It might take me a while to convince him, but I'm sure that I could do it. Let me know what you think._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

**January 1977: Sixth Year**  
The raids continued. The teachers tried to act as though nothing were happening, but nobody in Hogwarts was immune to the political tension growing outside the school. Although the Death Eater attacks still made the news every time, Severus had stopped paying attention. They didn't affect him, he figured, and nor did they deter him from wanting to join the Death Eaters. Lucius had said that not all of them had to participate in the raids, and surely not all of the Death Eaters were such rabid blood purists, if Lucius thought that Severus could join the ranks despite being a half-blood. In his mind, it was the usual problem with newspapers: They reported the minority of bad news because the majority of less-bad stuff wouldn't sell.

So he distanced himself from the whole mess, assisted by the book on Mind Arts—he'd managed to purchase it by bargaining with Morrible Metu—and its section on Occlumency.

**August 1977: Summer**

Tobias was pounding on his bedroom door again, screaming profanities as per usual. Severus wished for his father to get caught in the midst of a Death Eater massacre. Returning to the house on Spinner's End would be tolerable if it weren't for Tobias; then memories would be the only thing there to torture him.

Sighing and sitting down at his old desk—he still locked the door and blocked it with his trunk, but he no longer cowered in the corner when Tobias was outside—he set out a fresh sheet of parchment.

" _Dear Lucius,_ " he wrote. " _You mentioned once that you could work on getting me an audience with the Dark Lord if I so desired. Does your offer still stand?_ "


	4. Hogwarts: Year 7

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing, torture  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### Hogwarts: Year 7

**September 1977: Seventh Year**

Severus spent the first week of his final year sulking: James Potter and Lily Evans were Head Boy and Girl. Lily, of course, was deserving of the title, but Potter? Potter hexed people for fun in the corridors. Potter was obsessed with stupid things like his hair. Potter was, to put it bluntly, an ass. The only reason Severus could see for Potter's appointment was that he was arrogant and reckless, the perfect epitome of a Gryffindor. Hopefully, Lily would curse Potter because she found him as insufferable as Severus did.

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_I have dropped your name to the Dark Lord. He was dismissive when he learned of your blood heritage, but I think (he can be tricky to read) that I caught his attention when I described your ingenuity with potions and the Dark Arts. I will continue putting in a good word for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

**October 1977: Seventh Year**

_Dear Severus,_

_I brought up your name at tonight's meeting (the notion of Death Eaters meeting on Hallows' Eve, the day of the dead, is rather romantic, don't you agree?). The Dark Lord remembered that I'd spoken of you previously, which in itself is telling; it means he is open to the idea of recruiting you. Can you give me specific examples of potions and spells that you have invented? I will mention some of them next time._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

**November 1977: Seventh Year**

Although his future prospects were actually looking quite bright—Lucius's letters always cheered him up—Severus would have described his day-to-day life as "miserable." There were small irritations, like this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who was so flighty that his employment seemed a joke, and that time when Severus's entire Herbology class had spent a day in the infirmary, after an accident involving some numbskull trimming a plant too close to its roots and causing it to unleash a cloud of noxious gas; but the really distressing thing was that Lily had added the Marauders to her friend group. Seeing her laughing and talking with James bloody Potter was enough to give Severus homicidal urges. Since when did she get along with _Potter?_

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_I told the Dark Lord of your accomplishments, and he seemed impressed, or at least interested. He said to leave the matter with him, so now we wait and see what will come of it._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

**December 1977: Seventh Year**

_Dear Severus,_

_Congratulations are in order, my friend: The Dark Lord will meet with you in two weeks. Come to the Manor for Christmas break, and he will be there on the 30th._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_P.S. Good luck on your exams._

* * *

There was a fluttery feeling in Severus's stomach. He couldn't tell whether it was nerves or excitement—probably both. Since arriving at Malfoy Manor, he had been quieter than usual, at least according to Lucius. The Malfoys had been fine with letting him practically live in their library; also according to Lucius, Abraxas Malfoy had referred, sincerely, to Severus's borderline obsession with books as "charming."

Today, though, was not the day to get lost in the safety of the written page.

"He demands to be respected. Kneel when you go in, and do not stand up until he tells you to. Even though you are not yet part of the group, your safest bet is to always call him 'my Lord' or 'master.' It will make a good impression, indicate your level of dedication to the cause. Oh, and do not contradict him." Lucius gave Severus a friendly pat on the back to complete his monologue. "You'll be fine. I've put in a good word for you."

"Thank you, Lucius," Severus said. "Your efforts are much appreciated."

In response, Lucius flashed him a charismatic smile. That smile was probably the reason that Lucius had been so popular in school, Severus mused, just to give his brain something less important to think about.

The doors opened with a bang, abruptly pulling him back to the present and making him jump. Although he didn't look over, he could practically feel Lucius's smirk. His friend nudged him forwards, and they entered the drawing room together.

Inside was a man with dark hair and dark eyes. Based on what he'd heard, Severus had been entertaining the ridiculous notion that the Dark Lord was god-like, some twenty-foot-tall figure from Greek mythology; but although the Dark Lord lounged in the armchair as if he owned the place, he appeared quite normal.

Keeping Lucius's words in mind, Severus dropped to his knees upon reaching the other wizard. Eyes downcast, he could tell that the Dark Lord was scrutinizing him, taking in his thin frame and the greasy sheen to his hair, and his Hogwarts uniform, which he had worn because it was the nicest clothing he owned.

"You may rise."

Severus stood back and watched as Lucius repeated the display of reverence. He wanted to study the Dark Lord as the Dark Lord had studied him, but he didn't dare.

"You must be Severus Snape," the Dark Lord said, once Lucius was on his feet again. "I have heard much about you."

He was obviously expected to say something here. He took a deep breath and hoped that he was on the right track. "I am honoured that you have taken the time to see me, my Lord."

"Of course," the Dark Lord said with a faint smile. Severus didn't know whether that meant "Of course you're honoured" or "Of course I'm taking the time to see you," but he was willing to bet quite a lot of money on the former. The man smacked of pureblooded, aristocratic arrogance—and yet, there was something magnetic about him.

"My Lord," Lucius spoke up, "I believe that Severus would be a great asset."

"So you have said." Then he ordered, "Leave us. I wish to speak with Mister Snape alone."

Severus felt his heart beat faster. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the Occlumency techniques he'd taught himself. It would be fine, he would be fine, he didn't need Lucius to guide him through the meeting, of course he didn't. He could handle this himself.

Lucius bowed before retreating. He gave Severus another encouraging smile on the way out.

"Well. Severus." The Dark Lord leaned forward and said his first name slowly, like he was testing it. "Tell me: What can you bring to the Death Eaters?"

"I am a skilled at making potions, my Lord." His mouth felt dry. "I am at the top of my class in all subjects, but I do especially well in Potions. I… possess a deep understanding of how ingredients interact with each other and how best to… utilize their properties. I have been modifying textbook instructions to make the potions more efficient… since the end of third year. When I request lab time at school, I use it to experiment with new potions, instead of practicing the assigned ones."

He tried to relay these things impartially, like facts and not bragging; in the back of his head was the thought that the room might burst if it had to contain any more ego.

The Dark Lord made a noncommittal humming noise. Severus couldn't tell how he was taking the information. "And the Dark Arts," he said, "you are well-versed in the workings of Dark Magic?"

"Yes, my Lord." Severus nodded once. "Lucius, in fact- he was the one who saw to that area of my education. I have been inventing my own spells, too."

"Such as?"

" _Sectumsempra_ is the one I am most… pleased with. It leaves cuts healable only by—or most effectively healed by—a specific counter-curse, which I also created."

"Show me this _Sectumsempra_ spell." The Dark Lord conjured a very life-like dummy and looked at Severus expectantly.

He took another deep breath. Knowing his luck, he was half expecting the spell to malfunction. But, to his relief, in response to the nonverbal incantation, there was a flash of white and a deep gash appeared in the centre of the dummy's chest. It collapsed on the floor, fake blood pouring out of the wound.

"Hm." The Dark Lord vanished the mess, peering at Severus with what seemed like renewed interest. There was a pause. "What do you think of _muggles?_ " He said the word like he was talking about a parasitic bacterium.

Severus blinked at the non sequitur. "We could do without them," he said. It was the first thing that came to mind, something he'd heard from many of his Housemates.

Another faint smile appeared on the Dark Lord's face. "Elaborate."

Figuring that starting with what he knew was as good a place to start as any, Severus began, "My father is a muggle, my Lord." Lucius had already told the Dark Lord that he was a half-blood, so this was no big reveal. "He showed me that the muggle population is… unsophisticated. Vicious. Not to be trusted."

There was a slight untruth to this—through his friendship with Lily, he had met some decent muggles, Mr. and Mrs. Evans included—but the Dark Lord didn't have to know that. Besides, it was true enough; Tobias had heavily influenced Severus's view of the non-magical world, causing him to look on it distastefully. While the entire muggle population wasn't unsophisticated and vicious and untrustworthy like Tobias, no doubt there were others like him. And Severus certainly didn't want any part of the muggle world.

Leaning back in his chair, the Dark Lord regarded him almost lazily. "I was skeptical when Lucius first spoke of you, but you show promise."

There was another pause, on his part this time. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Why do you wish to join the Death Eaters?"

He looked away as he considered how to answer. To explain felt like it would take a week, and he knew that he had to be brief. Finally, he settled for, "I think that I would belong, my Lord."

The Dark Lord's faint smile this time was more of a smirk. "You are dismissed." The drawing room doors opened with a wave of his wand.

Recalling Lucius's departure, Severus gave a deep bow before turning and walking away.

His friend was waiting for him out in the hall. He steered Severus upstairs and into the nearest guest room. "You're still in one piece," he observed. "I assume it went well then?"

Severus sank onto the bed. He was filled with relief that he had done it, anticipation of what would happen next, and fear that his performance hadn't been good enough. "I think so," he answered, sounding out of breath. "I hope so."

**January 1978: Seventh Year**

James Potter and Lily Evans were dating. Rumour had it that they'd even spent Christmas together. Severus lied to himself over and over again: _I don't care. I don't care._

**March 1978: Seventh Year**

There was still no news from the Dark Lord.

"He is a busy man," Lucius said. "I'm sure that you will get an answer eventually."

Despite these reassurances, Severus couldn't help but feel anxious. He hated not knowing what was happening; he hated being left with the thought that his hard work might get him nowhere.

**May 1978: Seventh Year**

_Dear Severus,_

_The Dark Lord requests that you meet him on the second of July for an initiation ceremony. Malfoy Manor will again be the place of rendezvous. Congratulations, my friend, you made it._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

**July 2, 1978**

Severus Apparated himself to Malfoy Manor on the second of July, as requested. He had become an official Hogwarts graduate only the day before.

The graduation ceremony had been a drawn-out spectacle. There was a lengthy speech given by the Headmaster, and Professor McGonagall smiled at each of them as she handed out the diplomas; there was a lot of cheering, and a lot of hugging, and some of the couples even kissed right there in the Great Hall—the image of Lily and Potter snogging stuck out in Severus's memory, to his disgruntlement.

The Marauders had set off House-coloured fireworks, one colour for each word of the inappropriate message: " _See ya later, suckers!_ " The collective assumption was that Sirius Black had been responsible for the choice of statement. After all of that, the graduates left by boat, the same way they had arrived seven years ago. Some of the students had expressed delight in how romantic that was, but Severus hardly cared. He was more excited to become a Death Eater.

Lucius met him at the gates. "Severus! Are you ready?"

"Yes," he answered decisively, ignoring the sudden onset of nerves. As they approached the Manor's large doors, he asked, "What will it be like?"

"We are forbidden to speak of it, but you'll find out soon enough." Lucius paused. "Prepare yourself." Severus didn't get a chance to ask what that meant before the man continued, "The entire inner circle has gathered, as is customary for an initiation."

Lucius led him to a large room that he had never seen before. It was unfurnished, which gave it a purposeless look. Although it was early evening and still light out, all the curtains were closed, keeping the room drafty and dim. The Dark Lord stood in front of one of the windows, and witches and wizards stood on either side of him, forming a ring. 

"Master, he is here." Lucius backed away, and for the second time, Severus knelt in front of the Dark Lord.

"Very good. Rise, Severus." Then the Dark Lord announced, speaking to the whole room, "We are here to take a new Death Eater into the fold. Severus Snape: potioneer, practitioner of the Dark Arts, a half-blood"—he raised a hand to silence the murmurs of surprised displeasure—"but a supporter of the cause."

Severus couldn't remember if he had ever been given the lowdown on what exactly the "cause" was. He guessed that it had to do with pureblood supremacy and wizarding superiority. It couldn't have been as big of a deal as it sounded, though, because he was about to be admitted, despite the muggle part of his heritage.

"Your left arm, Severus."

With a thrill of anticipation, he extended his arm. The Dark Lord pushed up his sleeve and grasped his wrist, pressing the tip of his wand into the underside of Severus's forearm. Purple sparks ignited as the Dark Lord made strange hissing sounds. _Parseltongue,_ Severus realized. He had read about that, the gift of the language of snakes.

Once the sparks had died down, the Dark Lord released Severus. "And now we wait," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. Something about the expression reminded Severus of the creepy Morrible Metu of Metu's Tomes, but he didn't have time to dwell on the thought.

A gasp escaped his lips; a needling pain began where the Dark Lord's wand had touched. The feeling steadily grew in intensity, increasing to a stabbing pain, and then a burning pain, and then an even worse burning pain. And still it continued.

Somebody giggled in the background. Severus closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together, determined not to make another sound, even though it felt like he might as well have drenched himself in gasoline and lit a match. In fact, he wasn't convinced that he _hadn't_ been set on fire, as the pain was no longer confined to his forearm: it spread through his entire body, from his hair follicles to his toes. He was vaguely aware that at some point his knees had buckled and he had fallen to the floor.

" _Focus inwards and imagine your paradise—clear your mind of all else to forget yourself,_ " he recalled the words from the Mind Arts book. This was certainly putting his Occlumency to the test. He tried to block out the pain and hide somewhere in the back of his head, in the garden that he'd chosen to be his "paradise." His mental garden looked suspiciously like the garden in Lily Evans's backyard.

His Occlumency shield helped. Slightly. The burning was too overwhelming to simply ignore. He didn't know how long he spent writhing on the cold stone in that dimly-lit room of Malfoy Manor, fighting the urge to shout his throat raw.

Eventually, he gave in. Through the sound of his own screams, he thought that he heard another giggle, but it wouldn't surprise him if that was only in his imagination. Delusions and hallucinations would just be the next layer of hell.

It seemed like a lifetime later when the pain abated. Not gradually, but all at once, leaving him shaking and panting on the floor. He shifted so that he could look at his forearm. There, stark against the paleness of his skin, was the Dark Mark, the skull and the snake just as he remembered them.

Lucius reached down and helped him to his feet. The room spun. "You did well," Lucius said _sotto voce._ "It took almost forty minutes for you to start screaming. Some don't even last ten. It's a long hour for them."

 _It was a long hour for me, too,_ Severus wanted to say, but found that he didn't have the energy.

Luckily, the Dark Lord didn't seem to be expecting him to make a speech. Instead, the Dark Lord made a short speech of his own: "I can give you power and acceptance." Although his voice was quiet, there was no doubt that everybody heard him. "I can ensure that your memory lives forever. Follow me, and the world is your oyster.

"Welcome to the Death Eaters, Severus Snape."


	5. The Prophecy

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### The Prophecy

In the years since Severus's horrific Death Eater initiation ceremony, Eileen and Tobias Snape had moved away from Spinner's End, leaving Severus as the not-so-proud owner of a scuzzy house that was saddled with bad memories.

The first thing he had done was rid the place of its alcoholic reek, a task greatly assisted by magic, which he was now licensed to do because he was of age; the second thing that he had done was clean out the basement. He'd never actually been down there, as Tobias often used it to do Merlin knew what. The room had been filled with dusty junk that Tobias had left behind. Severus turned it into a potions lab and felt smug at the thought that his very-muggle father's storage unit was now a central for "freaky wizardy shit."

It was in this basement-turned-potions lab that Severus had completed the work for his Potions Mastery. He met the requirements on his own—Horace Slughorn might have agreed to supervise, but Severus didn't want to spend any more time under Slughorn's tutelage than was strictly necessary—and then submitted the paperwork to the Ministry for approval. It had been granted.

Being a Potions Master got him legal work brewing for St. Mungo's when they were urgently short on supplies; being the Dark Lord's Potions Master got him illegal work brewing poisons and other concoctions of nefarious intention for both the Dark Lord and some of the Dark Lord's associates. Because he was a friend, Lucius Malfoy was particularly inclined to come to Severus when he needed a rare and specific potion.

Things weren't going quite the way Severus thought they would; it hadn't taken him long to figure out that joining the Death Eaters wasn't going to solve his problems. He supposed that he did feel a sense of acceptance—when the Death Eaters weren't trying to screw each other over, vying for the Dark Lord's attention, and when the Dark Lord wasn't busy torturing his followers for failing him in some way.

That brought up another issue: The Dark Lord might have treated them like they were worth something when he first lured them in, but it had since become obvious that they were only there to do his bidding, and, considering his lack of qualms with killing them off, that they were expendable. While it was true that the public feared Lord Voldemort—another thing which Severus had quickly discovered was that being around somebody who spoke the Dark Lord's name caused pain where the Dark Mark was branded—and his Death Eaters, the Death Eaters themselves didn't actually wield any power. That part had been a lie.

Severus got the impression that the Dark Lord was always mildly disappointed with him because he didn't seem to relish the violent aspects of being a Death Eater as much as the rest of them did. He had been wrong, as a young teenager, to think that he wouldn't have to participate in the raids and that there was a justifiable reason behind them; for the most part, they went on raids for the pleasure of torturing and killing, among other things. Severus did it all, but he did it with business-like detachment, whilst some part of him felt that he would rather be reading a book.

The elusive nature of the Dark Arts and the challenge that they presented still intrigued Severus, and that was what he thought about. In these circles, a passion for the Dark Arts was appreciated. If he focused hard enough on this one detail, he found that he could—sometimes, almost, on good days—trick himself into thinking that becoming a Death Eater had made him happy.

* * *

The Dark Lord have given him a mission: Spy on Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and renowned champion of the Light. There were rumours that Dumbledore was the only wizard who the Dark Lord was truly afraid of. Of course, nobody was stupid enough to try and get this confirmed.

Severus had arranged for a job interview with the Headmaster, and he was currently biding his time in Hogsmeade until he had to go up to the castle. The prospect of deceiving Dumbledore made Severus a little nervous—he knew that, despite the man's eccentricities, Dumbledore was a powerful wizard and held a lot of influence; he'd been offered the position of Minister for Magic multiple times, for Merlin's sake!—but Severus was determined to get this right. Returning to his master empty-handed was absolutely not an option.

After visiting the small Hogsmeade apothecary, where he replenished his supply of lacewing flies, Severus pushed open the door to the Hog's Head Inn and Pub. He might as well get a drink while he waited, something to help soothe his nerves.

The pub was not the most attractive place: small and dingy, it was pretty much the opposite of the more-hospitable Three Broomsticks. The Hog's Head's cantankerous proprietor Aberforth Dumbledore didn't help its reputation, for the more patrons filled his pub, the grumpier he became. All of this, though, made it a good place for somebody who wanted to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

Severus received a mere grunt of acknowledgement when he asked for a small glass of Firewhisky, but his drink was soon handed over to him. He placed some coins on the counter, which Aberforth took without looking at him and dumped unceremoniously into a rusted cash box. Severus performed a subtle cleaning spell on the glass while Aberforth's back was turned.

He had taken only one sip of his drink when a witch sat down next to him. Several gaudy-coloured scarves were draped around her neck, and her big, round glasses reminded him of insect eyes, or perhaps owl eyes. She peered at him intently.

"Can I help you?" he asked, scowling.

"Oh no," she said in a dreamy, fluttery voice. "I was simply trying to read your aura. It is quite sickly-looking at the moment."

_What the fuck?_

"I'm sure that my aura is fine."

"Oh no, your aura weeps for you." Ridiculously, she seemed to be sincere. "You have lost something cherished, and it weeps for you."

"As it so happens, I did lose my peace and quiet when you sat down."

Much to his relief, Aberforth interrupted: "Can I get you anything, Trelawney?"

"Oh no." That phrase was really starting to annoy Severus, who gulped down more of his Firewhisky. He would have ordered a large if he'd known that he'd come across this Trelawney woman. "I am meeting someone. I predict that they will be arriving shortly. That is why I came down, you see. If we could have a private room, though, that would be lovely. The Inner Eye tells me you have one available."

A snort escaped Severus before he could muffle it. Trelawney and Aberforth both ignored him.

"Yes, I can give you a private meeting room," the barman said wearily.

"Ah, see, there he is now."

 _Merlin,_ Severus thought, ducking his head to hide his eye roll, _anyone she's meeting with must be at least half as crazy as her._

"Hello, Miss Trelawney."

He nearly choked on his drink. Keeping his head down, greasy black hair shadowing his face, his gaze flickered upwards. Aberforth's expression darkened as he looked at the man who had just entered the bar.

"Albus," he greeted his brother curtly.

"Aberforth." While Dumbledore's response was not quite as clipped, neither was it warm and friendly.

"Well, come this way, then."

Severus had thought that he would need to secure a position at Hogwarts in order to get any inside information on its Headmaster, but if he could learn something without having to be employed at the school, that was even better.

* * *

Aberforth had gone into the back room shortly after leading Dumbledore and Trelawney upstairs, giving Severus a chance to sneak away unnoticed. After that, it had been straightforward to find the room where the two were conversing, for the walls were not as soundproof as they probably thought, and they had not cast any anti-eavesdropping spells. Severus, however, had yet to hear anything of interest.

This was just a normal job interview, one for the Divination post, a subject that Severus held in the lowest esteem. Dumbledore asked Trelawney about her former occupations and her experience as a seer; Trelawney began babbling about being descended from some famous seer, who must have been realer than she was, because most people probably were. Trelawney struck Severus as a total fraud.

Dumbledore seemed to think the same thing. He wrapped up the interview in a kind and diplomatic fashion: "It has been a pleasure talking with you, Sybill, however, I don't think that your abilities are quite what we're looking for at the moment."

Disappointingly, it looked like Severus would have to go with his original plan. The Dark Lord, he knew, would laugh if he came with such trivial information—well, first he would laugh, and then he would torture Severus for wasting his time.

"No, wait!" It sounded like Trelawney had jumped up and knocked over her chair. "I-"

"Are you all right, my dear?"

When Trelawney spoke again, her voice was different. It was deeper, harsher, and decisive, the antithesis of her usual, insubstantial tone. Severus was suddenly glad that he'd suffered through the entire boring interview.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

"I don't allow eavesdropping on my premises!" Aberforth grabbed Severus by the back of his robes and dragged the younger wizard away.

"I came up the wrong set of stairs- I mean the wrong way up the stairs," Severus shouted. The excuse sounded lame even to his own ears. "I was looking for a washroom, and then I caught my foot on the-"

"Spare me. You were eavesdropping." The two other people in the pub, who were talking quietly with their heads bent towards each other, glanced up at the scene. "Get out! And if I catch you in here again, I'll hex your ears off. That'll teach you to listen at closed doors!"

Severus stood outside for a moment, burning with indignation. Then, with mingled relief and excitement, he Apparated away.

That he had been thrown out didn't matter. What he had heard was significant enough to take to the Dark Lord. And maybe the Dark Lord would be completely pleased for once; maybe, for once, the Dark Lord wouldn't mind that he lacked the same bloodlust as the other Death Eaters.


	6. Regret

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 542-544 of  
_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

### Regret

"Two babies were born at the end of July."

A few of the Death Eaters exchanged glances, wondering where this was going. They hadn't been told yet of what Severus had discovered; the Dark Lord had been sitting on that information for months.

Severus resisted the urge to smirk, to gloat, broadcasting that he already knew something, that for once, he had the inside information. The Dark Lord had been very pleased to have been made aware of the prophecy—less pleased about not having it in its entirety, but Severus was willing to forget about that part.

"I have spent nearly three months observing and considering what to do about the situation"—the Dark Lord didn't seem to be in a hurry to enlighten them as to what the situation actually was—"and I've decided to put an end to it before it can begin."

"My lord, please, what would you like us to do?"

It was Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black. She was the "somewhat unhinged" sister of Narcissa, whom Lucius had once mentioned to Severus by letter, a long time ago, back when Lucius and Narcissa had just begun their courtship. Although Bellatrix was married to Rodolphus Lestrange, it was blatantly obviously that she had eyes for only the Dark Lord. It was also obvious—to everyone except her, it seemed—that while the Dark Lord appreciated that she worshipped the ground he walked on, the feeling was unrequited.

"There is a prophecy," the Dark Lord continued, as though Bellatrix hadn't spoken. "The prophecy foretold a child born to two who have 'thrice defied' me, 'born as the seventh month dies,' one who will supposedly have the power to best me."

"There is nobody who can best you, my lord," Bellatrix denied vehemently, "not now and not ever. You are the greatest wizard in history, second to nobody."

"I /am/ the greatest wizard in history. But Bella," he added, with condescension in his voice, "is it not best to circumvent potential problems, no matter how minute the potential?"

She backtracked immediately. "Of course, my lord, of course it is. You are right, as always."

Severus wondered how Rodolphus could sit there with such indifference; Bellatrix's display made him want to vomit, and he wasn't married to the woman. He could see why she and Lucius didn't get along.

"Please tell us, my lord, who is this child? What would you like us to do?"

"I will be the one to take care of him. You needn't concern yourselves," the Dark Lord said, with an arrogant toss of his head. "As for the child, there are two candidates." He seemed determined to draw out his explanation as long as possible. He enjoyed making them wait. "Both the Potters and the Longbottoms welcomed a baby boy into their respective families, the Potters on the thirty-first and the Longbottoms on the thirtieth, but after thinking it over with utmost care, I have decided that the Potters are a bigger threat."

Before he could accidentally act on his rising panic, Severus slammed up his mental shields so fast that his ears seemed to ring.

The Potters? No. _No._

James Potter had become an Auror after graduating Hogwarts, and at some point during that time, he had gotten married. Severus had heard about it through the grapevine. Potter's wife was Lily Evans.

It was an old wound, one that had never completely healed or stopped hurting. While Severus was good at ignoring it, it was still there: He still felt guilty about calling Lily the M word—though he had gotten over his bitterness at the rejected apologies, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't have forgiven him either—and he still wished that he were part of her life, and it still made him angry that Potter had won her over.

When he'd heard about their engagement, his first reaction had been jealousy, thinking that it should have been him. Potter wasn't good enough for Lily—and then a voice in the back of his head whispered, _Neither are you._ He'd hastily quashed all of the inner turmoil that had arisen from the news.

Most of the time, Severus succeeded in forgetting that he cared about Lily—that he _loved_ her, which he would admit only to himself—but like the wound from his adolescence, the feeling never went away.

The Dark Lord, he knew, wouldn't just walk in, kill the baby, and leave. That was not his style. No, he would go after all of them, after Lily. Of course, with her there was double incentive: She was the boy's mother, and she was a muggle-born. And Lily, unless she had gotten a personality transplant, would die in a heartbeat if it meant protecting her family. She had always been like that, quick to defend those she truly cared about, regardless of how much it hurt her; to his knowledge, she had never ceased trying to make amends with that awful sister of hers, even after Petunia had rejected her for being a witch, something that Severus knew Lily had shed many tears over.

The Dark Lord was still discussing the prophecy, but Severus didn't hear a word of it. Even with the Occlumency, he his mind was too busy with its frantic whirring to pay attention to the meeting, and on top of that, there was a terrible, twisting sensation like a knife in his gut.

_Oh god… Lily…._

The Dark Lord was going to kill her, and it would be his fault.

* * *

Severus had almost backed out, he was so nervous. True, he had been the one to ask Albus Dumbledore to meet him here, but he felt no shortage of fear about how the meeting would go if Dumbledore actually agreed. As it turned out, Dumbledore had, although it was possible that the Headmaster was only coming to kill him.

 _For Lily,_ he reminded himself sternly, _because the least you can do is not be the coward that Black always accused you of being. Merlin knows you never did anything else for her._

Taking Severus by surprise, there was a blinding flash of white light, and then his wand flew out of his hand. He had gotten too caught up in his thoughts. He was lucky that it had only been a Disarming spell, although that wasn't exactly comforting.

"Don't kill me!" he shouted desperately, dropping to his knees and raising his arms in surrender.

"That was not my intention," came the reply.

Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned out by the sound of the wind in the branches—the unsympathetic weather was apropos for this meeting—and now he stood in front of Severus with his robes swirling around him. His face was illuminated in the light cast by his wand from below. It gave him a menacing look. That wasn't comforting, either.

"Well, Severus?" he asked, his voice colder than the October night air, maybe even colder than frostbite. "What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

Severus winced as the name sent burning pain down his left forearm, where the Mark was located. He didn't think he would ever get used to that. "No," he stammered, "no message, I'm here on my own account!" He wrung his hands together. "I- I come with a warning- no, a request, please…."

He winced again when Dumbledore flicked his wand, but the other wizard only quieted the howling wind; although leaves and branches still flew through the air, silence fell around them.

"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The- the prophecy… the prediction… Trelawney…" Severus cursed himself inwardly. The words were coming out all wrong, and at this rate, Dumbledore would strike him dead within the next five seconds.

Maybe he'd see Lily in the afterlife.

"Ah, yes." If it was possible, Dumbledore's voice grew even colder. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything, everything I heard," he confessed. "That is why- it is the reason- he thinks it means Lily Evans!" He refused to think of her as Lily Potter.

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July-"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down, kill them all."

Dumbledore looked at him shrewdly. "If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have."

The memory of the Dark Lord's amused face flashed through his mind. His master had made mockery of his affection for Lily, saying, "So you want the Mudblood for yourself, do you? Pretty thing? Wondering if her beauty will be enhanced by her screams?" But he'd then said, "I'll see what I can do," and that was enough for Severus.

"I have asked him-"

"You disgust me." The contempt in Dumbledore's voice made Severus recoil. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Severus felt like he had been paralyzed by those piercing blue eyes, like the intensity of the other wizard's stare was a spell in itself,  
preventing him from looking away. He found that he did not have a defence, for what Dumbledore said was absolutely true, and arguing his innocence was not the reason he was there.

"Hide them all, then," he said finally, brokenly. "Keep her—them—safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"In- in return?"

He gaped at the Headmaster for a moment. It wasn't surprising for Dumbledore to demand a fee—between being raised by Tobias and being sorted into Slytherin House, Severus was no stranger to the philosophy "nothing is free"—but he hadn't gotten that far. All he'd been concerned about was staying alive long enough to make his request and hopefully have it granted.

He came up with the best answer he could. Although a dangerous one, something that he would never say under any other circumstance, for it left the terms of service wide open for the other party to manipulate, it was truthful: "Anything."

* * *

"I have heard some rather unsavoury rumours about your activities since graduating Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, fingers intertwined, elbows resting atop the desk.

The last time Severus been in this office was the night he'd snuck down the tunnel below the Whomping Willow. He felt ten times more uncomfortable now than he had then.

"I can't- I mean, I don't know what you've heard, but I- I probably can't deny any of it," he admitted. The wizarding world was engaged in a full-scale war now, and he had done plenty of "unsavoury" things.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and he closed it again, feeling frustrated and foolish. He was having all sorts of linguistic difficulties tonight.

"Whatever you wish to say, Severus, you had best just say it." Dumbledore sounded tired.

After multiple, unsuccessful attempts at speaking, he finally confessed in a near whisper, "This isn't what I thought it would be."

"What isn't?" The old man was determined to make this as hard as possible for him, apparently.

"Being a Death Eater!" His voice rose. "The Dark Lord was charismatic and- and he promised us things, like- like power, and..." There was a long pause. "Acceptance. Belonging."

"I see. And you have found none of those?"

"No," said Severus, succinctly and miserably. Upon Dumbledore's silence and expectant expression, he elaborated, "We have to do whatever he says, and if we fail, he tortures us; the Death Eaters aren't friends, they're at each other's throats all the time, all trying to impress the Dark Lord; and there's this rabid obsession with blood purity. If I had- I didn't realize…." He let the words trail away without finishing the last thought.

"You are not a blood purist then?"

"No. I don't like muggles, but they don't"—Tobias came to mind—" _usually_ they don't hurt us… they're all right, I guess."

"You didn't realize what it was really about when you joined." Dumbledore easily filled in what Severus had left unsaid. "The signs, though, were surely there, were they not?"

Severus looked away, squirmed slightly in his seat, and didn't reply.

"They were." The coldness was back. "You saw the signs, you simply chose to ignore them because it suited you—you chose to be blind."

When Severus still did not answer, Dumbledore asked, "Was it worth it?"

That got a scowl. "No," the young Potions Master said, meeting Dumbledore's eyes again, "it bloody well wasn't! That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"It isn't, actually," Dumbledore corrected, with infuriating calm. "If that were your reason for contacting me, you would have done so sooner; I do not think it took very long for regret to settle in.

"Seeing as you brought it up, tell me: Why are you here _now?_ "

A prolonged silence followed the question.

"Because… this- this is… it matters to me. It's- _personal._ "

Dumbledore took his time studying Severus's face. Whatever he found, it must have been satisfactory, for he gave a slow nod. Then he said, "You claimed that you would do anything for me, if I protected the Potters, yes?" He waited for confirmation, as though he hadn't been there himself.

"Yes," Severus said, putting as much conviction as possible into his voice. "I meant it."

"Good." Dumbledore sat back in his chair and peered at Severus over his half-moon spectacles. "Then you will have no objection to make when I ask you to spy on Lord Voldemort."


	7. Order of the Phoenix

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
 **Warnings:** Swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### Order of the Phoenix

It was soon revealed to Severus that he was not only going to spy for Dumbledore, but also pretend to spy for the Dark Lord.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Trust," Dumbledore said simply, unaffected by the younger man's glare. "The more he trusts you, the more likely he will share his plans. Being his spy ensures that you stay in his good books."

Severus was not mollified. "Yes, as long as I'm actually _useful_ to him. Bringing him trivial things like what colour robes you wore on Tuesday will not help him trust me."

"Do not worry about that. I will tell you what to feed him: enough to keep his suspicion at bay, and little enough to prevent damage on our side."

Dumbledore swept on before Severus could come up with another argument.

"You will tell Voldemort"—Severus flinched—"that I interviewed you for a job and decided you are too young to teach at the moment, but that Professor Slughorn is hoping to retire in the not-so-distant future. I've recruited you to help brew potions for the infirmary, to lighten his workload. This will give you an excuse to be traveling to the castle at regular intervals.

"When I inquired into your past and current activities, you convinced me that you've rejected the ways of the Dark Arts and wish to be of service to the opposite side. Your usefulness will come from the fact that you not only managed to find a way into Hogwarts, but also managed to get close to me personally. He will be delighted to think that I have been fooled into trusting you, thus giving him an 'in' into the Light's forces, and will be none the wiser that it is actually the opposite."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose; Dumbledore's convoluted speech had literally given him a headache.

"To convince both sides of the war that what they see is the truth… I don't know if I can do that."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and tilted his head back slightly. "Oh, but you will." He said it so casually that Severus almost wanted to laugh.

There was a pause.

"I would like to ask another thing of you. Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"The name isn't familiar."

"Well, no matter. Sherbet lemon?"

Severus blinked, startled. Then he glared at the proffered tin, as though it had personally offended him. Why Dumbledore was offering sweets and how he even knew about the muggle candy, Severus couldn't guess. Just another of the man's many odd tendencies, he supposed.

"No thank you, Headmaster," he said stiffly. "What is the Order of the  
Phoenix?"

"It's an organization founded by myself that fights against Voldemort. If you have ever been on a foiled raid, it was likely Order members who joined the fray."

He wished that Dumbledore wouldn't use the Dark Lord's name, but he didn't feel comfortable asking him to stop.

"All right. What has this got to do with me?"

"I should have thought it would be obvious, Severus. I want you to join the Order."

Severus's mouth opened, but no words came out. He closed it again. The last time he'd joined a political party—though at the time he hadn't realized it, that was essentially what the Death Eaters were; a particularly violent, prejudiced, and dictatorial political party—it hadn't gone so well. Besides, sitting here tucked away in the office with Dumbledore was quite different from sitting in a roomful of people who wanted to kill anybody with the Dark Mark.

Dumbledore ignored the horrified look on Severus's face. "We are having a meeting in a week, and I expect you to accompany me. It seems logical, does it not? All the more inside information for Voldemort to think that he will receive, all the more pleased with you he will be, all the better you can spy for me."

If he didn't know better, he would have said that Dumbledore was actually _trying_ to get him killed. _Maybe he is,_ whispered a nagging voice in the back of his head.

"I can't go with you! I'm a known Death Eater! Your people kill people like me, it'll be like walking into a hornet's nest!"

"I will tell them that you have reformed. They will accept it."

"But I-"

"This is not up for negotiation, Severus." Dumbledore didn't explicitly bring up the promise of "anything," but it hung in the air.

Another pause.

"Very well, Headmaster."

* * *

As Dumbledore had predicted, the Dark Lord was very pleased with Severus—although the way he gloated, you'd think that he himself had gotten Severus the connection with Hogwarts and the Order.

"Ha! He thinks that he is gaining intelligence into my side. He does not realize that it is _I_ who have infiltrated _his_ army!"

The fear that Severus had felt as he waited for Albus Dumbledore on that stormy hilltop paled drastically in comparison to the fear he was experiencing now. If the Dark Lord Legilimized him, he wasn't sure if he could hide the truth. His heart felt like it was trying to burst from his chest. Any moment, the Dark Lord was going to smell a rat and persecute him for being a traitor. He didn't know how the Dark Lord dealt with traitors, but it definitely involved pain, and death, and probably humiliation.

"He is a fool! A naïve fool! By trusting you, I have gained access to him, and he doesn't even know it!"

The Dark Lord continued on in this vein for longer than Severus cared to listen to. He was practically manic; the air around him buzzed with triumphant energy, which only worsened Severus's anxiety.

"Well done, Severus." The other wizard finally concluded his monologue. "I will expect an update from you in two weeks. You are dismissed."

Severus had to fight his relief as he bowed and turned to leave. He was so close to getting away unscathed….

"And Severus."

 _Shit._ He turned, fear surging again when he caught a dangerous glint in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"My Lord?"

"See if you can discern the whereabouts of the Potters. They seem to have disappeared."

"Yes, my Lord."

He closed the door carefully, although what he really wanted to do was slam it and run. The relief came flooding back: relief that the Dark Lord believed his deception, and relief that Dumbledore had kept his end of the bargain.

Lily was safe.

* * *

The easy chatter that filled the room turned to stony silence when they caught sight of the black-clad wizard who entered behind Dumbledore. And then, as if things weren't bad enough—

" _Snivellus!_ "

Three of the four Marauders were monopolizing one of the couches.

Ignoring Black, Severus sneered, "I see you still have a flea problem, Lupin." He gestured at Black and Pettigrew. "You know, I've heard that moonlight can sometimes act as a pesticide."

"Severus," Dumbledore warned in a low voice. Then, "Please sit down and put your wand away, Sirius."

Although Black lowered his wand, he remained standing; in the end, Lupin tugged him back down, scowling at the allusion to his lycanthropy.

Severus briefly considered walking out, but decided that it wasn't worth risking Dumbledore's anger.

"I hope that you are going to explain this to us, Albus." Minerva McGonagall's mouth was pressed into a thin, disapproving line, an expression that Severus was familiar with from his years at Hogwarts.

"Of course, Minerva, of course," said Dumbledore, with a smile at his deputy. He addressed the Order at large: "Severus Snape is the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix."

_Because that will reassure them._

"But he's a Death Eater!" Black pointed at Severus with his wand. "The greasy git is a bloody /Death Eater! /He's going to go slithering back to his equally-slimy master and spew all of our secrets!"

"I ask again, Mister Black, that you sit down and put your wand away. Yes, Severus bears the Dark Mark, but he has seen the error of his ways and joined our side. I expect everyone here to treat him with the same respect that you show each other, and to include him in our agreement of confidentiality."

The Order members began to talk amongst themselves. Severus used their distraction to take note of who was present. There were quite a few people whom he'd gone to school with: Sirius Black, of course, and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew; Marlene McKinnon, and Dorcas Meadowes. Severus assumed that the Potters and the Longbottoms were also members, but absent because they were all in hiding.

"Why should we trust him?" someone called out.

"Because _I_ trust him."

"We need the reason he's defected, Albus," said another wizard, whom Severus recognized as Alastor Moody, one of the most respected Aurors currently in the field. Moody had quite the reputation. "I say we arrest him now, while we've got him here."

"I cannot provide the reason"—Severus let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding—"not because I do not know it, but because it isn't mine to share. I assure you, however, that I have not invited him here without plenty of forethought."

As if it wasn't already clear, Black said in frustration, "But he's a _Death Eater._ "

"So was your brother," Severus responded flatly. Regulus Black had disappeared without a trace the previous year. He was presumed dead.

Black paled and was speechless for a moment, but then he turned back to Dumbledore to continue pleading his case. "He's a Death Eaters, and he's _Snivellus._ "

"I will not tolerate name-calling," Dumbledore said sharply. " _Severus_ is joining the Order. That is my final word on the matter. Please, trust my judgement."

There were no more protests, though the majority still looked upset, Black and Moody most of all.

"Have a seat, Severus, and we will begin the meeting."

Severus glanced around, wondering if he could just lurk in a corner somewhere. He was good at lurking in corners.

To his immense surprise, McGonagall conjured a chair and placed it next to hers. It was obviously meant for him, and there was no way to sit somewhere else without insulting her, and Severus did not want to get on McGonagall's bad side; he gave her an awkward nod of thanks as he sat down, which she acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. She no longer looked disapproving, more like she had sized him up and was still in the process of determining her opinion.

Eyes reluctantly went to Dumbledore as he began to speak. For the most part, people stayed attentive to what was being said, but they did continue sneaking wary glances or glares at Severus throughout the meeting.

It was a very long hour.

* * *

Being the Dark Lord's spy propelled Severus through the ranks of the Death Eaters, much to the disgruntlement of some. It was March now, and the Dark Lord had yet to figure out that one of his supposedly-loyal followers had been double-crossing him since October. He had used Legilimency on Severus several times, but Severus had managed to prevent him from picking up on anything unusual. This was only due to some divine intervention, Severus thought, because he was a nervous wreck inside. He felt like _TRAITOR_ appeared on his forehead every time he had to see the Dark Lord or interact with the other Death Eaters.

So far, though, so good. He actually did end up doing some brewing for the Hogwarts infirmary, so that part of his cover story had become true; and any time he was questioned about seeming more reticent than usual—always by Lucius—he dismissed it as being preoccupied with a new potion or spell that was giving him trouble.

Not surprisingly, the Order never completely accepted Severus's presence, although the atmosphere did thaw. While some, like Sirius Black and Alastor Moody, never stopped being vocal about their dislike—both regularly received stern lectures from Dumbledore—others, like Minerva McGonagall and Elphias Doge, seemed willing to accept him because they trusted the Headmaster.

The Prewett twins, Gideon and Fabian, had also seemed inclined to put their faith in Dumbledore and accept Severus. Until they were murdered by Death Eaters, of course.

"This is your fault! You're not on our side at all! If you were, you would have warned us, and they would still be alive right now!"

The only reason that Black wasn't hexing Severus was because Lupin was restraining him. Similarly, McGonagall had an iron grip on Alastory Moody's wand arm. The Auror looked like he was about to follow through on his near-constant threats to ship Severus to Azkaban on the spot. Dumbledore hadn't arrived yet.

"I didn't even know that he was targeting the Prewetts," Severus argued through grit teeth, trying not to yell.

"You knew, you're just blood-purist scum like the rest of them, you think they're blood traitors and you _wanted_ them to die!"

"The Dark Lord doesn't tell everybody everything; he doesn't put all his eggs in one basket. That's just the way it works."

"You-"

" _I didn't know!_ "

"Enough."

You could have heard a pin drop: Dumbledore's entrance had effectively put an end to the argument. The entire room turned towards their leader and waited for him to speak. Dumbledore met Severus's eyes briefly, and Severus felt something press against his mind, like water trying to seep through a dam. He let it, surprising himself with how badly he wanted Dumbledore to know that he was telling the truth.

The Headmaster looked away after a moment. He spoke quietly, but there was no doubt that everyone heard his solemn words. "You all have a right to mourn and to be angry about what happened tonight. The Prewett brothers died fighting for what they believed in, but that does not negate the fact that they were well-loved and will be missed very much.

"That being said, this tragedy does not give you permission to abuse Severus. Yes, if he had known beforehand and been able to warn us, Gideon and Fabian might have survived. However, we will never know that for sure, and we cannot change what is already past.

"As much as we may wish it, Lord Voldemort"—Severus wasn't the only one who winced—"is not a straightforward opponent. I am not surprised that Severus did not know about the attack. Voldemort would never trust every one of his followers with all of his plans and secrets, for it would eliminate the question of who knows what, and he thrives on causing fear and suspicion.

"Severus is not to blame here. If you wish to point fingers, point them at Lord Voldemort."


	8. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
 **Warnings:** Swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 544-545 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

### The Boy Who Lived

It was October again, marking one year since Severus had begged Dumbledore to save the Potters, to save Lily. Severus felt like it might as well have been a decade.

The death of the Prewetts in March seemed to have set a trend of bad luck for the Light. A much-respected wizard named Caradoc Dearborn had gone missing during combat—his body had never been recovered—and was presumed dead; Auror Moody had lost a leg and an eye, the latter for which he'd gotten a magical glass replacement, which had a disconcerting tendency to look around the room on its own accord; and except for Amelia and her baby niece Susan, the entire Bones family had been murdered, as well as the McKinnons.

The Dark Lord had eventually decided that it was too risky to send his spy into the fray of battle, and as such, Severus hadn't participated in any raids in months. This did not, however, mean that he was uninformed. Because he had connections on both sides, it was quite the opposite: He got to hear about each raid twice. Lucius was particularly enthusiastic about telling his friend what he had missed, providing blow-by-blows of everything that Severus neither wanted nor needed to know.

Severus was still keeping the Dark Lord's suspicion at bay. Being accomplished in the Mind Arts himself, Dumbledore had helped Severus strengthen his Occlumency shields, which proved to be great incentive for success, as he didn't particularly want the Headmaster rummaging around his head. Dumbledore had also taught him how to modify memories. This had spared him a lot of extra pain on one particularly memorable occasion, when he had planted false information and was subsequently able to show the Dark Lord a false memory to back up the story, to prove that he hadn't willingly misled his master, he had just been misinformed by the other side.

In an ironic twist of fate, Severus found himself using many of the skills unwittingly taught to him by his very muggle father to help deceive the muggle-hating Dark Lord: coming up with believable lies on the spot, interpreting body language, facial expressions, and vocal inflections, noticing patterns and acting pre-emptively… living with Tobias had taught him all of these things. It seemed that the bastard had been good for something. Then again, his rotten childhood might have been the reason he'd gotten into this situation in the first place.

But Severus didn't have time to wallow. He was too busy working on potions and spells and not dying. Regardless of his success, the fear of being a double agent, of knowing that his life was constantly on the line, never completely abated, he simply got better at managing it; or, in other words, he got better at pretending that anything which remotely resembled an emotion didn't exist. He was quite good at being apathetic. He got a lot of practice.

* * *

Severus was scribbling notes in the margins of a potions book when he suddenly became aware of a lack of tingling in his left forearm. The Dark Mark was, of course, no ordinary tattoo; even when the Dark Lord wasn't calling, it produced a faint hum of magical energy. It had taken Severus over a year to notice this, but once he had, it had entered his hyperawareness.

Frowning, he set down his quill and pulled back the black fabric of his shirtsleeve—the memory of a younger Lucius Malfoy doing the exact same thing flashed through his mind. His eyebrows rose when he saw the Mark, which had turned from jet black to a faded red.

He picked up his quill, but instead of resuming his note-taking, summoned a blank piece of parchment.

" _L,_

_Mark has faded. What is happening?_

_SS_ "

He promptly sent the pithy letter off with the owl that he had bought shortly after moving into the house on Spinner's End. Then he began to pace. What did this mean? Severus's instinct told him that the fading of the Mark wasn't intentional, although where that impression came from, he didn't know either. Perhaps he should have contacted Albus Dumbledore first.

It took exactly twenty minutes for Lucius to respond. Severus knew, because he had been glancing at the clock every ten seconds.

The message was a single line: " _It has yet to be confirmed, but theysay that the Dark Lord is gone._ "

* * *

"It is true." Dumbledore's Patronus had reached Severus not long after Lucius's letter. "Come to Hogwarts" was all that the silvery phoenix had said.

"How?"

"He attacked the Potters. James and Lily are dead. His third Killing Curse rebounded and struck him."

Time seemed to stop. Severus suddenly felt a strange weightlessness, like he was disconnected from his body, and especially his brain, like he couldn't understand what he had just heard. It couldn't be true. The Potters were safe. Lily was safe. Dumbledore had put the family under Fidelius Charm, it should have been foolproof…. He sank into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, feeling like his leg muscles had ceased to exist.

He slumped forwards, gripping the edge of the desk. He had caused this. Lily Evans had befriended him, defended him, put up with his sullenness and his snark. In return, he had called her a—the word sickened him now—and then made her the obsession of a powerful Dark wizard. She was—had been—kind, intelligent, beautiful, brilliant, and he had joined the Death Eaters, and given the Dark Lord the prophecy, and the Dark Lord had killed her. _He_ had killed her.

His head hit the desk with a dull _thud._ All semblance of composure gone, he was barely aware of the anguished sound that ripped from his throat, some amalgamation of a sob and an animalistic scream.

After a moment, he raised his head to look at Dumbledore, who still stood above him and whose face gave nothing away.

"I thought… you were going… to keep her"—there was an extra long pause—"safe."

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," Dumbledore said grimly. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Severus squeezed his eyes shut and felt some tears escape from beneath his eyelids. He wasn't sure if his lungs were working properly or not. How could he have forgotten that? He had been busy with the war, as they had all been, but how could anything pertaining to Lily and her safety ever get pushed to the background of his mind? His guilt increased. _Not that it matters…._

"Her boy survives."

No response.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"

The use of Lily's maiden name got through to him. " _Don't!_ " he shrieked. "Gone… Dead…."

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"I wish… I wish _I_ were dead…."

"And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

These words, too, seemed like they were in a foreign language and took Severus a while to understand. Finally, he asked, "What- what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son." Dumbledore's face was still inscrutable.

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone-"

"-The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

Yet again, he was silent. " _The Dark Lord will return,_ " echoed in his head. There was no mistaking the Headmaster's certainty. He knew that Dumbledore was not infallible, but Severus's gut was telling him the same thing. He wanted to ignore the idea. It scared him.

"Very well," he said, collecting himself. "Very well. But never- never tell, Dumbledore! This must between us! Swear it! I cannot bear… especially Potter's son…"

He was at a loss for how to articulate or explain it, the desire he had to keep his motivations a secret, this terrible desperation to protect the vulnerable part of himself, which felt like it might be broken now, especially from the son of his childhood nemesis.

"I want your word!"

Something in Dumbledore's expression softened. "My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" He sighed. Severus held his gaze. "If you insist."

* * *

On the thirty-first of October, the wizarding world celebrated; on the first of November, the Aurors began rounding up Death Eaters. Severus himself spent two days in a cell in Azkaban, ruminating over his part in Lily's death and his bad life choices in general, wishing more and more that the Dementors would just suck out his soul and get it over with  
already.

And then Dumbledore pulled some strings, and they released him. There were plenty of people unhappy about this, but Dumbledore was very firm in his testament that Severus was a spy.

A week later saw him back in the Headmaster's office.

"Tell me, Severus," said Dumbledore, peering at the young man over his half-moon spectacles, an action that Severus had begun to associate with scheming of some sort, "what are your plans now that Voldemort is gone?"

The Dark Lord was dead enough that his name didn't cause the Mark to burn.

Severus shrugged. "Make potions," he said listlessly. "Maybe see if I can get a job at St. Mungo's, although I doubt the demand for ex-Death Eaters is high."

"You could teach."

"Teach?" he repeated incredulously.

Dumbledore leaned back. "Horace Slughorn informed me that he is going to retire. I will need somebody to take his place. And you did apply for a job, after all."

Severus let out a humourless laugh. That felt like a lifetime ago, and anyway, it had been a ruse. Besides, he didn't want to teach Potions. If anything, he would have liked to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he said as much.

"Ah, yes, well, I am not so inclined to give you the Defence post."

"Why not?"

"I have my reasons." Dumbledore obviously wasn't going to elaborate.

Severus presumed it was because Dumbledore figured that he'd had enough exposure to the Dark Arts. There was the supposed curse, which caused each teacher to leave after one year—Severus had always done well in Defence, despite the spotty instruction, and had thus paid little attention to the rapid-cycling of teachers—but it seemed unlikely that the Headmaster was trying to protect him from that.

"I hardly think that I am an appropriate person to fill the position."

"You are a Potions Master. I hear that you achieved your mastery summa cum laude. I would say that you are highly qualified to teach Potions."

"I am a criminal."

"You were acquitted, on the basis of being a spy."

"Children send me into anaphylactic shock."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at that one. The old man seemed to find it _amusing._

"You can observe Horace's lessons until you take over. Some exposure might take the edge off of your allergy."

"I'm not getting a choice here, am I?" Severus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Of course you get a choice, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerily, "you could always go back to Azkaban instead."

He paled. Dumbledore had demanded his help with protecting the Potter boy, which he definitely couldn't do from prison; Dumbledore wasn't going to retract his statement to the court if Severus didn't join the Hogwarts faculty. Still, the idea was enough to make him nervous.

"When exactly is Slughorn retiring?"

"The end of this term. I will have a contract for you then." The Headmaster gave him a wide smile. "Sherbet lemon?"


	9. Return to Normalcy

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
 **Warnings:** Swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### Return to Normalcy

The Dark Lord was gone, but the evidence of his rise to power still lingered, mostly in the form of Death Eaters who had yet to be caught and an abundance of mourners. Everybody seemed to be grieving the loss of a friend or a family member.

There had been a widely-attended funeral for the Potters. Severus hadn't gone; he didn't think that an ex-Death Eater would be very welcome, especially the one who'd brought the prophecy to the Dark Lord, although the public wasn't aware of that detail, thank Merlin. Later, he traveled alone to Godric's Hollow to visit the grave. Lily and James shared a single, marble headstone. This irked him, for some reason.

There had also been a funeral for Peter Pettigrew, or rather, Peter Pettigrew's finger, which was all that the Aurors could find of the man. Sirius Black had done a good job blasting Pettigrew to smithereens, along with blowing up a street of twelve muggles—the Obliviators had had their work cut out for them, trying to cover up the use of magic from muggle witnesses.

Cornelius Fudge, who worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, had reported that Black laughed maniacally after killing Pettigrew, a testimony that cemented Black's guilt. He had been carted off to Azkaban, no questions asked. Those who had been close to Black were still in shock about the fact that he'd pulled the wool over their eyes for so long; Black's pureblood-supremacist parents would have been proud. As for Severus, he got a vindictive pleasure from Black's incarceration, both because of the long-standing mutual hatred, and because the person who had betrayed Lily deserved their lifetime of misery.

More proof of the Dark Lord's continued influence appeared on the front page of the Prophet a couple days after Dumbledore had talked Severus into taking the Potions position.

_AURORS TORTURED TO INSANITY BY FOLLOWERS OF YOU KNOW WHO_

_by Rizzo Stalwart_

_Further tragedy struck the wizarding world yesterday. Death Eaters, on the hunt for their recently-deceased master, abducted Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom from their home and proceeded to torture them for information. …_

Severus didn't need to read the rest of the article. Dumbledore had called an emergency Order meeting the night before, but there was nothing to be done. The Frank and Alice Longbottom were in St. Mungo's, and the Healers said that they would never recover. Their son Neville, the other boy to whom the prophecy might have referred, had been shipped off to live with his grandmother Augusta, Frank's mother.

Naturally, people were outraged. The Longbottoms had been popular in the wizarding community. The news of their permanent mental incapacitation was met with a fury that rivaled their upset at the Potters' deaths. It probably didn't help that there was no triumph to compensate for the attack on the Longbottoms. Even Severus was perturbed, and he had barely known the couple. There was something unsettling, he thought, about somebody being there physically, but not mentally or emotionally. Death would have been kinder for all involved.

Too bad he couldn't think of Lily's death as "kinder" than the alternatives. He continued to berate himself for killing her. Really, the only difference between Black and himself was that Black's fault had been intentional, while Severus's had been inadvertent. The thought didn't give him comfort, not that he deserved any.

"You will find that it is a standard contract of employment, but read it over."

Severus took the parchment and examined it thoroughly. True, this contract wasn't going to be tattooed onto his arm, but he liked to think that he was not as naïve as he had been three and a half years ago, entering any sort of binding agreement without knowing the stipulations first.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, once he had scrawled his name. He handed the Potions Master another parchment. "I would like you to sign this as well."

"Contract for Head of House: Slytherin"—Severus nearly dropped the page in surprise and incredulity.

"Head of Slytherin? You want me to be Head of Slytherin?"

"Yes. Did I not mention it when we spoke in November?"

Severus scowled. The Headmaster knew damn well that it hadn't been mentioned. "I'm only twenty-one."

"I am aware, but I feel that you could lead by example."

"You mean the example of what not to do?" His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "How to Fuck Up Your Life One-oh-One, Don't Try This at Home?"

"Severus, language," Dumbledore chided. "I mean that you may be able to help those who, shall we say, might otherwise be caught by the intrigue of the Dark Arts."

"I'm not the coddling type."

"I'm not asking you to coddle, merely guide."

"I am not a good person."

Dumbledore nodded is head to one side—Perhaps, said the gesture. "But you will protect them."

Severus's scowl turned into a glare. Nevertheless, he took the quill again and angrily scrawled his signature at the bottom of the Head of House contract. Azkaban, he thought, might be preferable.

* * *

Severus hated teaching. He hated reading inane essay after inane essay, giving up hours of his time to grading. He hated that the students had no respect for the subject of Potions: Never mind that a mistake could literally kill you before you even realized your error, they found it boring. He hated that Slughorn had apparently taught these children nothing: One boy thought that Polyjuice Potion was a misnomer, that it was actually a type of transfiguration—needless to say, Severus had given that paper a T.

Most of all, Severus hated how out of his element he felt. What did he know about teaching or safeguarding children? Clearly, Dumbledore was off his rocker, if he thought that appointing Severus was a good idea. He was only four or five years older than the seventh years—they had already been second years when he'd graduated. It made matters worse that he'd come in halfway through the school year; the students were already used to Slughorn's lax standards, and were likely resentful that this new teacher barely older than them was much less forgiving.

Therefore, the only way that Severus had figured he could make the students respect him was to strike the fear of God into them, something that proved to be not hard in the slightest and that he found he rather enjoyed. In his first class, he berated multiple students for not following the instructions, which he wrote on the board, since he knew firsthand that the textbooks were awful. The class was subdued after he took large quantities of House points and described, in vivid detail, how the innards of third-years might benefit some of the experimental potions he was working on.

He wasn't quite so harsh when it came to his Head of House duties, although in that case, he didn't have to worry about acids, gasses, or combustion, which made his job a little easier. Still, he immediately made it clear that he was not going to tolerate any sort of misbehaviour, anything that would fuel the prejudice against Slytherin House. When some of the students had decided to test his authority, he'd given them a good tongue lashing, and made them scrub cauldrons and chop disgusting potions ingredients for a week. After that, they seemed to realize that Severus was not to be trifled with.

* * *

"Would you consider it unprofessional if I sent Howlers to parents?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he said, "I believe I would. Why do you wish to send Howlers to parents?"

"Because the parents have been sending Howlers to me. Apparently some of the rug-rats have been complaining about my teaching, not to mention the issue of me being a Death Eater."

"Well," said Dumbledore, completely disregarding the second half of Severus's statement, "your classroom demeanour is perhaps a touch harsh-"

"None of the dunderheads have blown up, have they?" Severus interrupted, recalling a particularly vivid incident from his own sixth-year NEWT class, in which one of the students had had to be sent to the potions accidents ward at St. Mungo's. "It's more than Slughorn managed. There were plenty of injuries in his class."

"Still"—Severus noted that the Headmaster didn't dispute his comment on Slughorn's safety record—"it wouldn't be remiss if you, ah, spoke less acerbically to them."

"I'd rather force-feed them slow-acting poison," Severus growled. Saying it felt good, even if it wasn't wholly true; he wasn't going to put himself at the wrong end of the law again for something so impulsive.

Instead of rebuking him, Dumbledore looked amused, eyes twinkling. "Enjoy your Howlers."

* * *

By the end of the schoolyear, Severus found that he was something akin to friends with Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey, and Aurora Sinistra. Whereas some of the faculty were openly hostile, McGonagall and Flitwick had approached him with cautious friendliness, and Pomfrey and Sinistra had soon followed. Severus didn't see the harm in it; all of his other "friends," except for Lucius Malfoy, were in Azkaban.

Lucius had achieved his pardon by claiming to be acting under the Imperius Curse. This wasn't true, but it had fooled Wizengamot, which was all that mattered. Lucius had written to Severus not long after he'd been released, bemoaning the fall of the Dark Lord, congratulating Severus on gaining the protection of Albus Dumbledore, and inviting him for a visit—"Cissa would love to entertain company, and you must see how big Draco is getting!"

With the Dark Lord gone, potions research and the occasional social call to Malfoy Manor became the height of excitement in Severus's life. He was surprised at how much he welcomed the normalcy.

Still, Dumbledore's words—The Dark Lord will return—lurked in the back of his mind. Although this wasn't the only thought that kept him up at night, it was the most prominent. The prospect of going back to that place of hell where he'd spent the past few years was a terrifying thought, and he'd had enough terror to last a lifetime. Of course, he wouldn't have a choice, if the Dark Lord came back; once you took the Mark, you were singed on for life.

But Severus continually reassured himself that, for now, everything was fine—or, rather, that things could be worse. He would devote himself to keeping Lily's son alive, once the boy came to Hogwarts, and to the cause for which she had fought so hard. It was the least he could do for her.


	10. Arrival of the Potter Spawn

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
**Warnings:** Swearing  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 83-88 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ while writing this.

### Arrival of the Potter Spawn

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Potions professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ex-Death Eater and ex-double agent, was in a dreadful mood—even more so than usual. He was currently finishing up on the long list of medicinal potions with which the school infirmary was stocked—the children who flooded the school for nine months of every year had an incredible knack for crippling themselves—his attention half on the task at hand and half on his agitated thoughts.

It was September 1st, 1991. The new term would begin in a mere six hours. As if it wasn't bad enough that he would be once again subjected to inept and squealing children, the son of his childhood nemesis would be among the hoard. He may have vowed to protect the boy, but that didn't mean he had to look forward to it.

Potter junior had spent the past decade in the muggle world, Severus had heard, living with his mother's sister and her husband. Because he had known Petunia Evans—Dursley—when they were children, there was no doubt in Severus's mind: Desperate to be part of the magical world and finally getting the chance, "Tuney" was spoiling the boy rotten. It must have been a dream come true, to be the guardian of The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

The Boy Who Lived. Severus sneered at the moniker. He was hardly an empathetic person, but he did think it insensitive to celebrate a child for surviving while his parents died. Even worse, the brat probably loved the attention, loved the way he had the entire magical community wrapped around his finger for doing something he couldn't even remember. No- for doing absolutely nothing, for being completely unremarkable, prophecy be damned. Severus was willing to bet that Harry Potter basked in his fame as snakes basked in the sunlight.

Speaking of snakes, there was a silver lining: The odds of Potter being sorted into Slytherin were less than zero. While the other Heads were hoping for Potter to be in their House, Severus was certain that the boy would be in Gryffindor, just like his parents, just like his father. Although Minerva would probably give them gloating looks in the staff room the day after the Sorting, Severus would rather put up with a smug McGonagall than a Slytherin Potter. Having the mini-"Marauder" in Potions class for seven years was going to be bad enough.

Not that there wouldn't be any brats in Slytherin—there were brats in every House, at least in Severus's opinion, though that was coloured by the fact he didn't care for children in general. But specifically, unless Lucius had disregarded Narcissa's wishes and had enrolled his son at the Durmstrang Institute, Draco Malfoy would also be starting Hogwarts this year; and while Severus was inclined to favour Draco purely because he was Lucius's son, Draco was the pureblood-raised equivalent of what Severus knew Potter was like: arrogant, coddled, entitled, used to being fawned over and thinking that the sun revolved around him. Draco had also inherited his father's world views, making him exactly the kind of child whom Dumbledore had asked Severus to steer away from making the same mistakes—great. More work for him.

In the many years since the Dark Lord's demise, Severus had come to realize that Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly a brilliant role model. In fact, he was a bloody terrible one, if the Dark Mark was any indicator, and while he still considered Lucius a friend—he couldn't forget that Lucius had been his first friend after Lily and that, in his memory anyway, their regular correspondence had made his turbulent Hogwarts years more bearable—he didn't hang on to the older man's every word. He thought for himself now.

Life of the past decade almost seemed like a kind of dream, a kind of standstill. Excluding the deaths of his parents, things stayed the same. He loved Potions and hated teaching about them, and he enjoyed his "evil bat of the dungeons" reputation, and he regularly engaged in semi-antagonistic banter with Minerva, Head of the rival Gryffindor House.

For the first time in his life, Severus wasn't always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next hit and wondering whether it would come from foe or supposed friend. He hadn't let his guard down, of course—the wariness was ingrained—but at least his paranoia largely went unjustified. In fact, if one could look past the fact that he still hated himself and still had nightmares about serving under the Dark Lord, one might say that his life of the past decade had been quite nice.

A voice drifted from the Floo in the Potions Master's office, distracting him from both his ruminating and his stirring: "Severus! Can you come through?"

He put the active cauldrons, of which there were currently three, under Stasis Charms, and then went about tidying his ingredients. Barring an emergency, he was in no hurry to attend to the concerns of anybody who interrupted his brewing, not even this particular "anybody."

"Severus!" the voice called again.

Don't get your knickers in a knot, old man, he thought as he made his way over to the fireplace. Aloud, he barked, "I'm coming," before stepping into the flames and emerging in Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore had backed away when Severus answered his call and was now returning to his desk.

"Severus," he said, merrily and in greeting this time, as though he hadn't seen his youngest employee in years. "Thank you for coming. Have a seat. Sherbet lemon?"

Severus sat down, but he drew the line at accepting the confection. He had never eaten one of the omnipresent sherbet lemons and never would, yet still the Headmaster tried. He might have admired the tenacity, if the perpetual shoving of the candy tin in his face weren't so damn annoying. "No."

"Well, perhaps next time."

Ha. "Will this take very long?" Severus asked tonelessly. "I was in the middle of brewing a complex potion, and it is currently waiting under Stasis Charm in a state that is easily-corrupted."

In reality, his cauldrons were filled with three relatively simple and stable potions, but Severus was in a bad mood, and it wasn't as if it would hurt the Headmaster to think that he had been called away from something important—and incendiary.

"I only wish to have a brief discussion with you, my boy," said Dumbledore, used to Severus's surly demeanour, "and then you can brew in peace until the Welcoming Feast."

Severus raised an expectant eyebrow.

"You remember what happened in Godric's Hollow ten years ago, I presume?"

"No. It was only one of my worst memories."

Dumbledore ignored the sarcasm. "And I also presume that you remember the conversation we had shortly following the aforementioned event?"

"By all means, Albus, cut to the chase."

"Harry Potter will be arriving at Hogwarts tonight"— _No shit_ —"and I wish to reaffirm your promise to protect him."

There was a pause, during which Severus scowled. Then, angry that the Headmaster apparently put so little stock into his word—he did not make such promises lightly, even if he was in a state of immense distress while making them—he said, "While I am sure that there are plenty of devoted Potter Spawn fans who would love to play body guard to the local celebrity, yes. Fine. I reaffirm my promise to protect the brat. For Lily."

He stood. "If that is everything?"

Dumbledore nodded in assent. "I will see you tonight."

"Yes, to my great misfortune."

Severus swiftly exited the office, opting to get back to the dungeons via his own two legs; the walk would allow him to blow off some of the steam that had rapidly accumulated at the mention of Harry Potter.

* * *

He looked just like his father. It was easy to identify him in the lineup of incoming first years, because he looked just—like—his—father. Except for his eyes, as Dumbledore had told Severus that Halloween long ago. Severus would have recognized those eyes anywhere: They were Lily's eyes, "precisely her eyes."

Severus groaned inwardly. Unfortunately, ignoring the boy was not an option. He would have to spend the next seven years looking at James Potter's near-doppelgänger—and he wouldn't even begin thinking about the effect on him that those eyes might have—constantly being reminded of his childhood tormentor, which would remind him of that awful day by the lake, which would remind him that he had become a Death Eater, which would remind him that he'd accidentally killed the woman he loved because of his hunger for acceptance. Fantastic.

Sitting at the High Table, he fumed silently through the Sorting Hat's song, which seemed particularly irksome this year, although that was likely due to his poor temper. His contribution to the applause was slow and gave the impression of being ironic.

His applause for the new Slytherins was more sincere and enthusiastic. He routinely had fleeting thoughts about becoming negligent with his teaching and letting the little dunderheads blow themselves up, but he never considered shirking his Head of House duties. He was quite a hands-off Head, delegating a lot of responsibility to his Perfects, but he was willing to look out for and favour the children of Slytherin House—nobody else was willing to. Slytherins, he'd decided, got enough grief already; they didn't also need a Head of House who tried to wipe his hands of them. Not all of them were Death Eater progeny, though there were quite a few of those arriving this year. Still, over time, he'd become quite devoted to the job which had initially been forced upon him by Dumbledore.

"Potter, Harry!" Minerva called, and the entire hall seemed to straighten with attentiveness, the children from wizarding families whispering and craning their necks, eager to get a good first glimpse of this household legend in the flesh, as he went up to the front and sat on the stool.

Although he didn't show it, Severus was surprised when the Hat did not immediately spit out a verdict. In fact, it took a great deal of time to ponder the situation. The answer was glaringly obvious; Severus couldn't imagine what was taking so long.

Finally, just as whispers of "Hatstall" began cropping up, the expected shout of "Gryffindor!" echoed through the room. The lion's table burst into cheers, and the Weasley Twins of Terror yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" as though it weren't obvious.

When the last child had been sorted, Minerva rolled up her scroll and took the Hat away. Dumbledore got to his feet. He was giving off his typical grandfatherly airs, beaming, holding his arms open wide, like he was about to try hugging the entire student body at once. Severus suddenly had to repress a snort at the mental image, which rose unbidden, of Dumbledore magically elongating his arms so that he could wrap them around everybody in the Great Hall.

"Welcome!" said the Headmaster, with far too much exuberance for Severus's taste. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin the banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

For some unfathomable reason, there was more applause as Dumbledore sat back down.

The dishes piled high with food, courtesy of the house elves. Before serving himself, Severus glanced over at the Slytherin table. The students were already chattering away, the Perfects a bit less so, as they were also doing periodic table surveys to ensure that nothing was amiss. Most of the first-years were already acquainted, being from old pureblood families who only allowed their children to associate with the children of other old pureblood families.

Severus watched in amusement as Slytherin's ghost, the Bloody Baron, floated over and seated himself beside Draco Malfoy, who looked less than ecstatic about the arrangement. Absently, he wondered what Draco's upperclassmen would make of the boy's attitude. He couldn't imagine any of his seventh years taking shit from an eleven-year-old, even if this eleven-year-old bore the name of Malfoy.

"S-so, Pp-profes-s-sor S-snape," Quirinus Quirrell spoke up. He was this year's Defence professor, switching from his previous employment in Muggle Studies, which was being taken over by Charity Burbage.

Severus turned his head to look at the man beside him. He wasn't well-acquainted with Quirrell, but he knew that the former Ravenclaw had always been timid and anxious, though he was supposedly brilliant. While Severus was skeptical about the brilliance part, Quirrell's timidity and anxiety were very apparent and seemed to have magnified since his sabbatical the previous year. In Severus's opinion, Quirrell was too weak-willed to teach defence; a simple Expelliarmus would scare him silly.

"You l-l-lost the D-d-def-f-ence posit-t-tion again?" It had somehow become common knowledge that Severus asked Dumbledore if he could switch to Defence professor each time his contract came up for renewal.

"Obviously."

"Y-y-y-yes, well, I-I'm t-t-terribly s-sorry about th-that."

The Potions professor turned back to his dinner, ignoring the sorry excuse for a wizard, who continued to blather on. Said sorry excuse for a wizard seemed to be under the delusion that Severus cared. When pudding, which Severus did not eat, popped up on the table, he returned to monitoring the students. It had evidently taken Draco only fifteen minutes to acquire a couple of sycophants. Lucius would be thrilled. Severus occasionally paused in his perusing to give Quirrell disparaging looks, which Quirrell either didn't notice or somehow misinterpreted.

"W-w-what d-do you th-th-think?"

But Severus's focus was on the Potter spawn, who was staring at the High Table, and more specifically, staring at Severus. He met Lily Potter's green eyes with his own obsidian ones, anger bubbling up again as he thought about the wrongness of any feature of Lily's combined with that of James Potter's. He was barely aware of how the stuttering professor had practically turned around backwards in his chair to get his colleague's attention. Severus's mouth tightened imperceptibly when the boy clapped a hand to his forehead, briefly screwing up his face as though in pain. The stupid brat was already seeking attention, as though he didn't have enough of that already.

Did Potter know who he was? the thought flashed through Severus's mind. That Petunia might have told her nephew stories of "that Snape boy," whom she'd made it clear she reviled, had never crossed his mind before; but now that it had, it only increased Severus's anger. Damn Potter. His presence was bringing up all of the past that Severus didn't want to think about.

"S-s-sev-verus?"

"Repeat the question."

He turned back to Quirrell and, for the sake of his blood pressure, did not look towards the Gryffindor table again.

He was in for a long seven years.


	11. Potions with the Potter Spawn

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
 **Warnings:** Swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 101-104 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ while writing this.

### Potions with the Potter Spawn

Four days. Severus had gotten four, blissfully—and relatively, for it was difficult to forget that there was a James Potter lookalike running about the school—Potter-free days. But this morning, first-year double Potions was at the top of his schedule. Making matters worse, it was a Gryffindor/Slytherin class. Of course. Severus had repeatedly asked Dumbledore not to arrange classes in such a way, but the Headmaster insisted that it would "foster inter-House relationships." As far as Severus was concerned, inter-House relationships had been in the toilet since his Hogwarts years, and probably long before that, too. It seemed to him the only relationship the Gryffindor/Slytherin classes fostered was the one which made children more likely to jinx each other in the halls.

Despite his feelings of dread—most days were horrible, but this day was going to be particularly bad, he just knew it—the Potions Master banged into his classroom exactly on time, his black robes billowing out around him. Combined with the chill of the dungeons and the walls lined with scare-factor jars of pickled animals, he managed to craft quite the terrifying first impression.

Without preamble, he began taking the register, pausing at the name of a certain Saviour.

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

At this, he heard Draco and Draco's sycophants, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, snigger behind their hands. He'd never cared much for Crabbe's or Goyle's fathers, both Death Eaters with few intelligent thoughts and with whom he'd had mercifully little interaction.

After finishing with the register, he set down his parchment and stared at the assembly of students, launching into the speech that he'd perfected over nine years of first-year first Potions lessons. He rather enjoyed giving it. Although he spoke in barely more than a whisper, he knew that they could hear him all the way to the back of the room. He knew how to keep a class silent without effort and was not afraid to utilize this knowledge. Part of him wondered how much that had been influenced by Minerva's teachings, which he still recalled vividly from his adolescence. She, too, possessed the Gift of the Lecture and was fond of letting her students know right away that she was not a professor to be crossed.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

Early on in Severus's teaching career, one unfortunate individual, not realizing that their new professor had the hearing of a bat, had thought it wise to whisper to her friend about Potions being a useless subject that hardly counted as magic. He'd given her a tongue lashing and detention and inserted a snide acknowledgement of the opinion into his speech the next year.

"I don't expect you will really understand"—variations on a theme—"the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He'd gotten a couple of angry letters the first time he'd used that closing line, some eleven-year-olds with fragile egos writing home that their teacher was doubtful of their intellectual capabilities. Word had gotten around to Dumbledore—of course—who had disapproved of calling students "dunderheads" to their face. He hadn't ordered Severus to stop, though, likely deciding that it wasn't a battle worth fighting.

The monologue was greeted with total silence. A few of the Slytherins grinned in anticipation, while the majority of the Gryffindors looked intimidated. One young lion, a bushy-haired muggleborn named Hermione Granger, perched on the very edge of her seat and looked overly eager to begin. Severus had heard things about her from the rest of his colleagues, all glowing reviews, saying that she was a very bright and talented witch, always ready with the answer. Personally, he thought it more show-offish than impressive, and since meeting James Potter, he had acquired a dislike for show-offs. He understood the need to know things, but one did not have to be obnoxious about it.

Speaking of James Potter… "Potter!" Severus barked. He could see that Potter was startled to be singled out. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The Granger girl's hand shot up, but Potter's forehead creased. He glanced at the latest Hogwarts-age Weasley, with whom he was evidently friends, as though Ronald were any more likely to know the answer.

"I don't know, sir," Potter admitted.

Severus made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue against his top front teeth. "Fame clearly isn't everything," he sneered. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Granger's hand was still up in the air, and she was waving it around now. But he did not frankly care if she could explain how to make Polyjuice Potion; he was only interested in making James Potter's son squirm. He liked imagining that James Potter could see this little scene from the afterlife. It gave him a vindictive thrill.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Granger actually stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling as she tried to get her teacher's attention.

"I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

The imp—but he took the opportunity to dock points.

"Sit down," Severus snapped unforgivingly at Granger. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well?" he added impatiently, when the class just stared at him. "Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. This was another reason he hated teaching: Students never thought to come prepared, never thought to unpack their supplies before they had need of it. Hunting for writing utensils wasted valuable class time, during which Severus could have been trying to drill actual knowledge into their thick skulls.

Over the noise, he said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Better to start small for small infractions, in this case anyway. He didn't want Minerva at his throat when Potter complained to her about the injustice of deducting, say, fifty points.

Neither Severus's mood nor the students' competence improved as the lesson continued, and Severus had developed quite the migraine by the time they arrived at the practical segment. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching and criticizing as the students tried to brew a simple boil cure. None of them displayed any aptitude for the "exact art of potion-making," with the exceptions of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Uninclined to praise a Gryffindor, Draco was the only one whose efforts he acknowledged. Severus suspected that Lucius might have given his son a bit of Potions tutoring before he came to Hogwarts, not wanting Draco to disgrace himself in the class of the family friend and Head of House.

Severus was distracted from drawing attention to Draco's perfectly-stewed horned slugs by a loud hissing sound and clouds of green smoke: In record speed, Neville Longbottom had managed to melt the cauldron of one of his fellow Gryffindors into a twisted blob. The duo's potion dripped onto the stone and began burning holes in people's shoes. The floor would have some new scorch marks.

Within seconds, the whole class stood atop their stools. Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up on his appendages.

Severus already had a pre-formed dislike of Longbottom—irrationally, for it wasn't actually Longbottom's fault, he was angry that the Dark Lord had targeted Lily and James instead of Frank and Alice; if the Dark Lord had thought Neville to be the boy in the prophecy, Lily might still be alive—and this display of stupidity caused Severus's dislike to grow.

"Idiot boy!" he snarled. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Above a certain temperature, the quills and the snake fangs interacted in such a way that drew the residual acid from the fangs. The fangs them became flammable if the molecules latched onto those of the dried nettle. But one didn't necessarily have to understand the chemistry to avoid melting a cauldron—all that one really had to do was read the instructions correctly. They were written on the board, specifically because he did not trust the textbooks. Somebody really needed to write better ones.

It's not rocket science, for fuck's sake! he wanted to say, but didn't: it would get back to Dumbledore, and while Dumbledore put up with a lot from him, Severus knew that cussing out children crossed the line.

Exasperated, he vanished the acidic mess with a nonverbal Evanesco, a spell at which he was extremely practiced, as he often had to use it in his classroom, at least below NEWT level.

Longbottom continued to whimper as the boils took over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Severus spat at Seamus Finnigan, who was supposed to have been working together with Longbottom on the potion. Apparently both the children were illiterate.

Then, because he was annoyed, and Potter was conveniently stationed next to Longbottom and Finnegan's desk, and he really did hate the Potter spawn, he said maliciously, "You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Potter opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again without a word. Severus heard a dull thud as the Weasley boy kicked his friend's leg underneath the desk.

"Don't push it," he heard Weasley advise as he swept away, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

His back still to the class, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding not to justify that sotto voce remark with a response.

Children were an infuriating species.


	12. Special Treatment

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  
 **Warnings:** Swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 128 and 130-132 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ and page 545 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

### Special Treatment

And so continued the misery of having Harry Potter at Hogwarts.

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore was perusing a transfiguration journal when his Potions Master stormed into the office. "I thought I might see you soon."

"You are not, in fact, _seeing_ me," snarked Severus, "as that would require taking your eyes off your magazine."

"I'm sorry, my boy, but this article is fascinating."

Much to Severus's frustration, Dumbledore remained engrossed in the page. After a short pause, he spoke up anyway: "The rules explicitly state that first years are not permitted to play Quidditch." He paused again, waiting for a response, knowing that Dumbledore knew to what he was referring. "Yet you have allowed Potter's appointment as Seeker."

"There are always exceptions to the rules. Life is fluid."

" _'Life is fluid.'_ What kind of a philosophy is that?" It sounded like some mumbo-jumbo that Sybill Trelawney might spout, hands raised dramatically in front of her, as if trying to frame an image that existed only in her overactive imagination. Perhaps that's where Dumbledore had acquired the phrase; the Headmaster, though he had many a sentimental word of wisdom in his arsenal, usually had less pathetic justifications. "Albus, Potter cannot play Seeker for Gryffindor."

"I don't see why not." Dumbledore's tone was the kind that one used when only partaking in conversation due to politeness. "Potter is in Gryffindor House and capable of steering a broomstick."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He had better things to do than clandestinely monitor Potter during Quidditch games. "I won't have to protect his sorry neck anymore because he'll have broken it!"

"I hear that Harry is an excellent flier. A natural, perfectly capable of rising to the level of his upperclassmen and perhaps even surpassing that."

"And from what I hear, anybody else would be facing a month's worth of detentions for a stunt like the one he pulled, but here you are, Dumbledore, commending him." Severus began to pace back and forth in front of the desk, his agitation worsened by the fact that the other wizard had not so much as looked up from Transfiguration Today. "The only reason you're bending the rules here is because your precious Golden Boy is involved; though what makes him so golden, I cannot see. The boy is mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent-"

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child." He turned the page. "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"

In the face of this clear dismissal, Severus huffed. There was one more person to whom he could appeal, loathe as he was to do it. But he would not let this go without a good fight.

* * *

He entered without knocking.

"Hello, Severus," Minerva greeted him dryly. It briefly soothed his ruffled feathers that she had the grace to acknowledge his presence by lifting her head from the papers she was grading. "Do come in."

"Are you busy?" he asked, in a poor impression of caring.

The Deputy Headmistress gestured for him to sit down, and he did so, stiffly, crossing his arms.

"Why did you let Potter on the Quidditch team? It's against the rules for first-years to play. He will get knocked off his broom by a bludger and break his neck!"

"I didn't realize you cared so much for Harry Potter." There was a shade of amusement in her voice. "In that case, I imagine his death would make the front page of the Prophet."

Severus snorted. " _'Death by Intramurals for The Boy Who Lived.'_ Rita Skeeter would have a field day," he quipped, before refocusing. "We could prevent such a situation if you simply took Potter off the team."

"You should discuss it with Albus, if it vexes you that much."

"I have already done so," he said through grit teeth, "and the meddling codger won't see reason."

"You're just worried that there will be competition for the Quidditch Cup now," Minerva said smugly. Were she in her Animagus form, she would probably be purring.

Knowing that to push the issue would be useless, Severus stood. "Do not indulge in such senile thoughts; you're not that old," he retorted. A Stinging Hex narrowly missed him as he left.

* * *

Severus sipped at his second cup of coffee. He was still in a knot over how Potter had knowingly broken the rules—all in the name of showing off—and had actually been rewarded for it. _Rewarded._ At that thought, he nearly shook his head in disgust, before remembering that he was in the Great Hall, in clear view of the room—not that Severus Snape being disgusted by something was a novel occurrence.

Unfortunately, he had a strong feeling that this would emerge as a pattern: Potter breaks rules, Potter gets off because he's Potter. History repeating itself. The thought almost made him hope that the boy got knocked off his broom. If Potter were in his House- no. He stopped that line of thought in its tracks; it was too dreadful a line of thinking to pursue. He would rather kiss the giant squid than have Potter in Slytherin, even if it meant that he would have gotten more influence over the boy's discipline.

Owls flooded the Hall. While this was routine, everyone's attention was caught by six large screech owls that gripped a long, thin, and suspiciously broomstick-shaped package. The owls dropped it off in front of Potter before flying away, only to be replaced by another owl, whose contribution was a letter. Severus recognized this final bird as Minerva's.

He looked over to his left. The Head of Gryffindor watched her young charge as he read the note and quickly vacated, package in hand, followed by Ronald Weasley.

"Really, Minerva?" Severus drawled in exasperation. "You bought him a broomstick?"

He noticed a few of the other teachers glance up from their breakfast with interest, the ones who sat close enough to hear the exchange. Bloody busy-bodies.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," the witch replied, smug rather than unabashed.

"The school has a cupboard full of brooms!"

"Yes, and they are hardly fit to sweep the floors—of a condemned building."

"According to your initial report, they worked just fine during Hooch's class."

"Quidditch Cup, Severus." She grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Quidditch Cup."

* * *

Time passed. Severus's hatred for Harry Potter continued to burn. He wasn't fond of Potter's sidekick Ronald Weasley either, who was dumber than a doorknob; nor was he fond of their fellow Gryffindor Hermione Granger, who had the opposite problem. Granger, he'd quickly discovered, wrote tome-sized essays that he struggled to mark without falling asleep—it was as though the girl had swallowed a textbook and regurgitated it onto the parchment—and the persistent waving of her hand in the air irritated him to no end—nobody would ever learn anything, thus moving past the blowing-up-cauldrons stage, if they thought she would just feed them the answers

But there was a more imminent nightmare than the next installment in Granger's endless showing off: the Hogwarts Halloween feast. Severus hated it. Handing excitement and sugar to children, in isolation or combination, only served to turn up the volume on their innate obnoxiousness. And then there was that other, darker reason he hated the date, the reason he always drunk himself into a stupor on this particular date, once he was finished chaperoning sticky, shrieking children.

That being said, this October 31st turned out to be even worse than the last, something which he thought every year, but which was actually true this time.

"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," gasped Quirrell, before falling to the floor in a dead faint.

Severus curled his lip. _Some Defence Against the Dark Arts professor he is._

Dumbledore lifted his wand, sending purple sparks out of the tip with a bang to catch the attention of the panicking student body. "Perfects," he instructed, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

The Head of Slytherin raised an eyebrow and waved over one of his Perfects.

"Accompany the Ravenclaws to their common room," he instructed. "Do not return to the dungeons." As the Perfect ran off, he turned to give the Headmaster a scowl. "Albus-"

Dumbledore interrupted in an undertone: "Check on the Stone." And then he was gone, hurrying away with several of his employees behind him.

Severus sighed as he got up, stepping around Quirrell's motionless form. Dumbldore's request to keep an eye on the man came to mind. Not convinced that Quirrell was really unconscious, Severus was tempted to give him a kick, but ultimately decided that—without evidence of some foul misdeed—causing bodily harm would be crossing the line.

* * *

 _Damn that bloody Cerberus,_ Severus cursed silently, slamming the door shut again and bending down to inspect the damage. "Fluffy." Ha! Hagrid has a twisted sense of humour. Of course, Minerva had once told him that his own sense of humour was questionable—a statement with which Aurora and Filius had readily agreed—all because he found it amusing to make the first-years brew Forgetfulness Potion for their final exam. That was different, though; Forgetfulness Potion didn't have three heads.

The sound of running footsteps made him look up. He shoved the pain behind his Occlumency shields, where it continued to throbbing, but to a lesser degree.

"O-oh," Quirrell said, coming to a sudden halt. "P-p-p-rofes-sor S-s-snape."

"Quirrell." Severus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I w-was j-just c-c-coming t-to chec-ck on- on the St-Stone. W-wouldn't want a-anybody t-t-to r-run off-f w-w-with it." Quirrell gave a nervous laugh.

"Indeed. I assure you, the Stone is fine. I have already seen to that."

"R-r-right." More nervous laughter. "G-good t-t-to know. G-great m-m-minds th-think a-a-a-alike."

"Why don't we go see how Minerva and the others are managing?" Severus said, as though it were a suggestion. He strode forward, sucking in a breath as he put weight on his injured leg— _fucking hell,_ he'd served the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake, why did one laceration hurt so much?—and grabbed Quirrell by the arm. He practically dragged the other man down the corridor.

As they descended the stairs, a dull but sickening crack resounded through the hall, closely followed by a thud. They met Minerva coming up from the dungeons. She and Severus exchanged a look, and in silent agreement, picked up their pace. Severus relinquished his death grip on Quirrell in the process.

They followed the sound to the girls' washroom, which was newly in a state of disarray, where they found three pale first-years and an unconscious mountain troll. Potter was at the heart of the spectacle. Severus moved to inspect the troll, his black hair falling around his face and hiding the anger and frustration that had suddenly lit up his eyes. Meanwhile, Quirrell whimpered behind him.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" asked an irate Minerva McGonagall. Even Severus knew that one only provoked her if one desired to land oneself in very hot water. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

The troll was out cold and likely would be until they got rid of it, and Severus felt that he had calmed down enough to look like his usual indifferent self. He straightened and gave Potter a piercing look, which the boy acknowledged only briefly before looking away.

_The stupid, reckless imbecile! he seethed internally. How am I supposed to protect him if he goes looking for heroics? Damned Gryffindor fool._

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me." Granger crept forward, standing on trembling legs.

"Miss Granger!" Minerva looked surprised that her precious know-it-all was involved.

"I went looking for the troll because I- I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them." The sound of Weasley's wand clattering to the floor interjected. "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Severus raised an eyebrow at the lie. Perhaps he could imagine this girl thinking that reading about trolls made her equipped to battle one, but he couldn't imagine her going out of her way to break the rules. She was too desperate to prove herself. Showing off in class was one thing; intentionally putting oneself in dangerous situations was another. It also did not help her case that Potter and Weasley were staring as though she had suddenly sprouted wings.

Minerva seemed to waffle between believing the story and not believing it. "Well," she said at last, "in that case… Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

While Granger hung her head, Potter looked gobsmacked. Not fancying a rebuke from his rival Head of House, Severus had to bite back a comment about gaping like a fish.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to the Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Severus scowled. Five points and no detention? If the girl had been in Slytherin, she would have been scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the term. There were rumours that he never disciplined Slytherins, but that wasn't true. He just didn't discipline them in front of non-Slytherins.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll," Minerva said to the remaining two students. "You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

As the reprobates hurried off, Severus turned to his colleague. "Five points?" he drawled, not bothering to clarify whether he was asking about the meagre five taken away from Miss Granger, or the five that had been rewarded to each of the boys. Both, he supposed. "Are you mad?"

Minerva simply shrugged. "It was rather impressive," she said airily. Then she walked off, tossing an, "I'm going to get Albus" over her shoulder.

His scowl deepened.


	13. Quidditch, Take One

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 125-130 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ while writing this.

### Quidditch, Take One

Minerva had done a good job of turning Potter into a Quidditch fanatic—as if there weren't enough of those already; half the Quidditch fanatics could drop dead, as far as Severus was concerned, and there would still be too many.

He'd taken a Quidditch book from Potter the other day. Potter was hanging about the courtyard with Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, the latter having obviously misplaced all common sense and the former possessing none to begin with, as was often the case with children. The trio was huddled together with identical expressions of guilt adorning their faces. Severus, on his way to chew out Hagrid for his mishap with the Cerberus, had made a detour.

Potter was clutching a well-thumbed copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages,_ the Hogwarts Crest stamped on its spine. Severus assumed Miss Granger had procured it for him, since he doubted that Potter even knew what a library was, let alone where it was or how to use it.

He'd confiscated the tome, informing Potter that library books weren't allowed outside of the castle. Because library books weren't allowed outside of the castle _grounds,_ it was only a slight bending of the truth. He enjoyed the expression on Potter's face, so filled with righteous indignation that it was almost comical. Weasley's angry face turned almost as red as his hair.

Then Severus had walked away, tucking the book into his cloak—it might have been on a pointless and violent sport, but he wasn't in the habit of damaging school property. Not only would Irma Pince have his hide, he appreciated books in general for more than their usefulness in making him a know-it-all.

The only downside to the incident was that the brat had later come looking for the book, which Severus had already returned to Madam Pince. When Potter had glanced into the staff room that evening, the Potions professor had been busy bandaging the leg mangled by Fluffy, with the assistance of Argus Filch, the universally-disliked caretaker.

Severus had immediately yelled at Potter to get out, and Potter, to his immense relief, had obeyed. It infuriated him that the boy had caught him in a vulnerable position. Potter had probably gone back to his cronies and had a good laugh over their Potion professor's misfortune. It was what his father would have done. Even shouting hadn't made Severus feel better, and it usually did. In fact, he was still fuming over it as he watched the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams speed around the pitch.

This was not good for his nerves. He hadn't been so stressed, he thought, since he was actively double-crossing the Dark Lord. It still irked him that Potter was allowed to play Quidditch, as if the boy's life wasn't already on the line by default. It was just another point to add to the list of major annoyances, which already included the fact that Potter was at Hogwarts and that Dumbledore had decided to keep the Philosopher's Stone in the castle—though Severus was rather pleased with his own contribution to the Stone's protections; a logic puzzle was more effective than one might think, for he found that witches and wizards often relied too much on their magic and too little on their brains.

Severus liked it when his House won the Hogwarts Quidditch matches: He liked to win, period. The game itself, however, could go to hell. The person who'd invented it had probably been homicidal.

Bludgers were large in circumference, heavy in weight, zoomed around the pitch awfully fast, and served the purpose of smashing in the players' faces; the snitch was tiny in circumference and zoomed around even faster than the bludgers, and until the accursed thing was caught, the spectators were held ransom in the stands; and, of course, the game was played in the air by flying-obsessed idiots who had no sense of self-preservation, attempting every reckless trick in existence. Even the Slytherins weren't exempt from this particular detail. Severus was positive that Quidditch was the reason he always had to restock the infirmary midway through the year.

Somebody had done up a banner that read, _Potter for President,_ as though this were an election. Lee Jordan from Gryffindor was providing an extremely biased running commentary, insulting the opposing team while cheering on his own. Severus flinched internally whenever a bludger came into close quarters with Potter, and his students unknowingly made their Head's job harder, deliberately targeting the young Gryffindor Seeker. He wanted to win, yes, but he also wanted to keep Lily's son in one piece.

"So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!" Unlike Severus, Minerva did not show favouritism to the children in her House.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"All right, all right."

Severus unconsciously tightened his grip on his wand as another bludger missed Potter's head by mere centimetres; simultaneously, the boy's broomstick lurched forwards. He thought for a moment that the sudden movement was intentional, an ill-timed attempt to evade the speeding ball, but then he caught sight of Potter's shocked, fearful expression. Nobody else seemed to have noticed. Jordan was still busy commentating, and the crowds still had their eyes locked on the goalposts. Severus took a moment to run through his mental toolbox of spells, looking for one that seemed likely to be the cause. The one on which he settled was old, Dark magic.

 _Shit._ He almost swore out loud. He _knew_ it was a bad idea to let Potter play.

Not wasting further time on that thought, he began muttering the counter-curse, which, though it did lessen the broom's erratic behaviour, didn't stop it completely. Eyes locked on the small figure, he was vaguely aware that others had now noticed Potter's predicament. If the curse and counter-curse hadn't required eye contact with the subject, he would have scanned the stands for the caster. Quirrell seemed like the obvious suspect, as his motives were already under question—though Dumbledore never had said exactly _why_ he thought they should keep an eye on Quirrell—but Severus couldn't risk breaking contact to look for the man. He wondered for how long he could keep chanting the incantation. Longer than the original jinx was in effect, with any luck.

As it turned out, he didn't need to wonder. He suddenly realized, letting out a yelp, that his robes were on fire. Teeth clenched, he turned to put out the flame with a silent _Augmenti._ There were a couple of cheers. Turning back, he saw that Potter had regained control of his broom and was hurrying to the ground, the stupid little-

Potter covered his mouth with one hand and coughed. There was a pause, and then—"I've got the snitch!" He held up the golden ball, which looked like it had seen better days. He'd accidentally swallowed it. Rolling his eyes, Severus's first thought was that Potter could have survived the cursed-broom debacle only to choke to death. He wasn't sure if that would make his life better—no Potter—or worse—dead Lily's son.

After much confusion, it was declared that Gryffindor had won the game, beating Slytherin by over a hundred points. In the aftermath of the announcement, Severus caught Minerva smirking at him. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team's Captain, started a loud argument with Rolanda Hooch over the verdict, insisting that "he didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it!" Severus had to order Flint back to the common room, where he proceeded to berate the fifth-year for lacking subtlety. Much to the irritation of those within earshot, Flint continued to whine for the rest of the day, along with Draco Malfoy. The Potions Master disappeared into his office and locked the door, not wishing to be subjected to Flint's howling, Minerva's gloating, or the rowdy celebration of Potter's many fans.

When Dumbledore had first claimed that Potter would need protecting, Severus had been skeptical. He believed it now. Still-at-large Death Eaters aside, it was already apparent that Potter both attracted trouble and had a penchant for finding it: the troll, the cursed broom, and Merlin only knew what would be next. The brat was going to give him a heart attack.

* * *

 

"Somebody tried to hex him off his broom, Albus! If I hadn't been muttering the counter-curse, your precious Wonder Boy would be in a body bag right now."

Dumbledore was as unflappable as always. "But thanks to your quick thinking, he is not."

"Don't patronize me!" Severus spat. "I _told_ you I didn't want him playing. We need to-"

"-discus who was trying to hurt Harry. Tell me, how was Quirinus behaving?"

"As far as I could tell, no more strangely than usual; but we were on the same side of the pitch, and I couldn't monitor him as well as I would have liked." He paused. "You think it was him, I take it?"

"I do."

"Well fire him then! Merlin knows, you should have done that a long time ago." Dumbledore unwrapped a sherbet lemon and popped it into his mouth, looking politely at Severus. "Or if, for some bizarre reason, you are against firing him, let me confront him now, scare him out of trying anything."

"No, not yet. I believe it would be best to collect more evidence first."

"If Quirrell really does have his sights set on the Stone and on doing in Potter, it may be too late," Severus argued. "We should take pre-emptive measures. The sooner we eliminate the threat, the sooner we can stop fussing like mother hens." And the sooner he could return to ignoring ninety percent of the population, instead of scrutinizing and overanalyzing the behaviour of every person on whom he laid his eyes. It was like being a double-agent again.

"We do not know anything for certain," reasoned Dumbledore, as though he hadn't been the one wary of Quirrell in the first place. "Wait until we discover what he is planning."

"Fine," Severus huffed, with his trademark scowl, "but I want to referee the next Quidditch game. No such near-death experiences will be happening on my watch." He could also avoid having his robes set on fire again. When he found out who dared to do such a thing….

The twinkle came into Dumbledore's eyes. "You do realize that everyone else will merely think you trying to sabotage the Gryffindor team? I imagine you'll find yourself quite unpopular."

"Spare me," Severus drawled. "If you haven't noticed that I am already unpopular, then your observational skills are sorely lacking. Tell Hooch that I will be refereeing the next match." He stood. "I will see myself out."

If he was going to protect the brat, he reflected as he stormed back down to the dungeons, he was going to do it right. The Headmaster could disagree with firing or confronting Quirrell all he wanted, but that didn't mean they had to be unprepared for the next attack.


	14. Quidditch, Take Two

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 164-166 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ while writing this.

### Quidditch, Take Two

Somebody had been in the Restricted Section of the library. The culprit had fled by the time Severus and Filch, whose help he'd enlisted, arrived, but the chorus of shrieking books could still be heard two floors away. Since then, there had been a distinct lack of suspicious activity. It made Severus nervous. In his experience, the longer one had to wait for an attack from the opposite side, the more likely it was that the opposite side was hard at work, drafting grand, virulent plans. That had always been the case with the Dark Lord.

It was the Christmas break now. _Thank Merlin._ Few children to tolerate, and no abysmal papers to grade. Severus's favourite Christmas pastime was downing a bottle of Firewhisky and forgetting that he had two more terms of teaching to endure before school was out for the summer. Seeing as he had much more about which he wished to forget this year—Potter, the mess with Quirrell, Dumbledore's perpetually-vague hints and suggestions, could the man not give a straight answer like a normal person for once—December twenty-fifth looked like it would be particularly exciting this time. Buying an additional bottle of Firewhisky didn't seem like a wholly bad idea.

* * *

Alas, the students returned to Hogwarts as scheduled—Severus had been holding out his annual hope that they would all drop out instead—and soon enough the next Quidditch match had arrived.

Severus hadn't caught out Quirrell at anything more suspicious than usual as of late. The most incriminating thing that he'd come upon, while storming about the castle with his customary scowl and billowing robes, was Ronald Weasley lunging at Draco Malfoy. He'd taken five points from Gryffindor. Gryffindor seemed to be losing an awful lot of points these days; it was the only thing that got him through first-year Gryffindor/Slytherin classes. Neville Longbottom managed to brew some ghastly abomination of a potion every time. Some of them were explosive or corrosive, and Severus had had to replace four cauldrons in the first term alone.

And then there was the Potter spawn, of course.

Demanding to referee the next match certainly hadn't made him popular in the staff room, but it was Severus's opinion that Minerva should have been thanking him. He was lowering the risk of her precious Golden Boy falling to his death or taking up permanent residence in the hospital wing. Despite being the boy's Head of House, she sure didn't seem to put much of an effort into looking out for him. Then again, she hadn't seemed to pay much attention to her students when Severus had been in school either. Not that he held a grudge against his professor-turned-colleague; he liked her as much as he was capable of liking anybody. He simply didn't think that she was as aware of or had as much control over her students as she believed. He wasn't suicidal enough to mention that, though.

The stands were packed. Students whose attention could usually not be captured by the sport were in the front bleachers, gossiping about the near-tragedy of the previous game, which they had unfortunately missed and only heard about through the grapevine. Even the Headmaster was here, although his presence was business, extra security against prospective assassinations on the Boy Who Lived.

Dumbledore, once again, managed to irritate Severus beyond belief. If he'd known that Dumbledore would come, he wouldn't have fought with Hooch over refereeing; Dumbledore could take care of the problem for once, instead of manipulating somebody else—Severus—into taking care of it.

Severus hated brooms. He hated Quidditch. He hated rambunctious children on brooms playing Quidditch matches that lasted for hours. And the feeling was mutual: One of the Weasley twins sent a bludger in his direction, which he swerved to avoid. Severus awarded Hufflepuff a penalty for that, and an extra one for good measure.

It was too cold—another penalty for Hufflepuff, because why not, at least Hufflepuffs weren't show-offs like Gryffindors. Why did they play this god-forsaken sport in the winter? Surely that was against the rules, surely there was something about acceptable playing weather in the guidebook….

He turned on his broom just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches. Then the stands erupted. Apparently the brat had caught the snitch in record time. _Well whoop-de-doo for him._ On the one hand, this meant that they could all go back inside, happy to be reunited with the solid ground; on the other hand, this meant that Potter's ego was going to get even bigger.

_Perhaps I should suggest to Minerva that she expand the portrait hole, lest Potter's head get stuck on the way in._

* * *

Tired of waiting, Severus had pulled aside a put-out-looking Quirrell as people had begun filtering back into the castle. He'd ordered Quirrell to meet him in the Forbidden Forest in half an hour, walking away before the other wizard could do more than stammer a few syllables. He'd half expected Quirrell to be a no-show, but—

"You're here. It seems that you do possess a modicum of intelligence."

Quirrell jumped, whirling around and then laughing nervously. "O-oh, y-you s-startled me."

Severus raised an eyebrow, adding that statement to his mental list of dumb, obvious things he'd heard the Defence professor say.

"I-it isn't v-v-very n-nice to go sn-sneaking up on p-p-people."

"It isn't very nice to curse brooms and sneak around in the Restricted Section after-hours either. You can drop the pretense."

"I r-really d-don't know w-what you're t-t-t-talking a-about, and I do-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet me here of all p-places, Severus."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private. Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all." He cut off the other man's mumbled denial. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I-"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell." A step forward accompanied his words.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Would Dumbledore look askance, Severus wondered, if he hexed Quirrell now? "Pity for you, I have already caught on. So go ahead and try your little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't-"

"Very well. We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

Severus pulled up the hood of his cloak and strode away again, with renewed determination to get an admission out of the shifty wizard. He hadn't survived as a double agent without learning how to glean information from reluctant parties.


	15. Implications

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### Implications

It was harder to corner Quirrell this time, now that he knew to be wary of the Potions Master; he was always dashing away, citing grading, lesson plans, office hours—as far as Severs knew, Quirrell did not and had never had office hours—and doxy infestations in Greenhouse Number Four all as reasons for his haste. It was frustrating.

Severus finally caught the Defence professor right before Quirrell left his office for the night. Quirrell almost smacked into him as he suddenly blocked the door, a hand lightly gripping each side of the doorframe, black robes draping in such a way that gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a bat.

"S-s-severus!" Quirrell backed away. "I-i-it's l-late. I should r-really be g-going."

"I'll be brief." He shut the door soundlessly behind him, locking it with a wave of his wand and erecting a privacy charm. "Have you decided yet where your loyalties lie?"

"Th-th-this is r-ridicul-l-lous, I s-s-said I h-h-have n-no clue w-what you're t-t-talking ab-bout."

It occurred to Severus that he could simply use Legilimency on Quirrell—just because he virtually never used Legilimency didn't mean he couldn't do it—but he nipped the idea in the bud. He didn't trust that he could be subtle enough about it, and he was fairly certain that Legilimizing somebody without their consent was technically illegal. Then again, maybe he only thought that because the Dark Lord used to do it all the time, and most of what the Dark Lord did was technically illegal.

"Let's put it this way," he said, in his most simmering, threatening tone, "you are either working for Albus Dumbledore in protecting the Philosopher's Stone—and, by extension, the school as a whole—or you are working against him. There is no middle ground here, Quirrell. Which is it?"

After vacillating between stammering yes and no, the other wizard finally said, "Th-th-there's n-nothing wrong w-with wanting t-to l-learn a-about a l-l-large b-beast w-when i-it's in the c-castle."

A raised eyebrow from Severus seemed to make Quirrell realize what he'd inadvertently revealed.

"I mean-"

"I'll see myself out," interrupted Severus, quashing a self-satisfied smirk.

* * *

"I had another talk with Quirrell."

If Dumbledore hadn't been paying attention before, he was now. "Another?"

"Oh yes," Severus said casually, "I talked to him the night of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch game. I thought I told you."

A pause. Then, "I see." The expression on Dumbledore's face made Severus want to laugh. The old Headmaster wasn't the only one who could play the game of withholding information. "And how did that play out?"

Recounting both interactions, he had to suppress another smirk. Dumbledore could disapprove all he liked, but there was no denying that Severus had gotten an admission of guilt out of Quirrell. That was one thing that had gone according to plan.

* * *

Children were dunderheads—Severus had always known this, and yet he so often found himself with renewed amazement at this fact: Draco Malfoy had been out wandering the castle after midnight. Severus had opened his door to find an irate Minerva McGonagall standing outside, with a sulking Draco close behind. Not that he had been sleeping, but he rarely appreciated being bothered for the sole reason of students being in trouble. He'd curtly thanked Minerva and proceeded to rake Draco over the coals, assigning him a Saturday morning detention, in addition to the detention issued by the Deputy Headmistress.

He'd learned the next morning that Potter and his friends had also been out, resulting in a loss of a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor. Why, Severus had fumed silently over breakfast, could the idiot not just stay in the Tower after curfew? Eventually, these little nighttime escapades were going to get him into a lot more trouble than just losing House points. Even Minerva was exasperated with her Golden Boy, ranting about it in the staff room that afternoon.

And it wasn't until even later that Severus learned what task the children had been given for their detention and what had happened there. Draco had arrived back at the Slytherin common room looking half-traumatized, which was quite a change for the arrogant Malfoy heir, who, in true Malfoy fashion, liked to pretend that he had no capacity for any emotion besides superiority. When pressed, he'd given Severus an overview of the evening. Severus had promptly reported back to Dumbledore, who already knew some of the story from Hagrid.

Dumbledore was a bit of a dunderhead, too.

"I can't believe you approved of this detention when we know for a fact that Potter is at risk!" Severus paced back and forth. "First Hagrid sends Draco and Longbottom off with that useless furball for 'protection,' and then he sends Draco and Potter off with said furball, and then when a threat arises, Hagrid—the supposedly-responsible adult supervisor—isn't even there! This could have gone drastically wrong, culminating in multiple deaths, Potter's being one of them."

"But it didn't," Dumbledore placated, ignoring a snort from his Potions professor. "It all worked out in the end."

"I suppose that with your bottomless pit of Gryffindor optimism," Severus sneered, "you find it easy to dismiss how close Potter may have come to harm. I, however, having already dedicated too much time and energy to keeping the boy's life off the line to-"

"Severus."

Dumbledore's sudden change of tone stopped him mid-sentence. The Headmaster was sitting with his elbows propped on the desk and his hands clasped together, fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes.

"The unicorn."

A light suddenly went on, and Severus berated himself for getting stuck on the smaller picture. He'd been so focused on the foolhardiness that had led to the whole situation—he blamed his distraction on Potter—that he hadn't yet stopped to ponder the implications of the hooded figure that Draco had spoken of.

Only the desperate, the destitute, resorted to drinking unicorn blood in order to preserve their life, and only, perhaps, those with better, more permanent solutions on the near horizon: Solutions such as the Elixir of Life, produced by the Philosopher's Stone, which was currently hidden inside Hogwarts.

" _Fuck._ "

Dumbledore didn't even rebuke him for his language this time. It seemed that he quite agreed.


	16. Another Defence Professor Bites the Dust

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 195-222 of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ while writing this.

### Another Defence Professor Bites the Dust

After alerting his Deputy Headmistress and his sullen Potions Master, Dumbledore left for London. Apparently the imbeciles at the Ministry were about to expire from their own stupidity and needed the great Albus Dumbledore to save them. Severus thought that Dumbledore should have left them to work through their own damn problems.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" he'd demanded furiously. "We need you at the school, not off pandering to Fudge!"

But Dumbledore had reassured Severus that all would be well, that he'd only be gone for a day at most, and that he had complete faith that his staff could handle any issues which arose. Severus had considered pointing out that the Dark Lord rising in the middle of Hogwarts was perhaps an exception, but he knew even that wouldn't have changed Dumbledore's determined mind.

Severus's opinion that they needed the Headmaster at school was reinforced when he came upon the Gryffindor trio loitering in the halls.

"… will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up," Potter was saying.

"But what can we-"

Granger let out a gasp. She'd caught sight of him.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

Inside, he fumed. Children were such nosey creatures; they had no business discussing the Headmaster's whereabouts. And how was he supposed to keep an eye on Quirrell when Potter and his friends were always up to something? Really, the Dumbledore expected too much. It wasn't as if he could clone himself—not that he would want to, even if he could.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this."

"We were-"

"You want to be more careful. Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can they?"

To his satisfaction, Potter flushed. The reminder had hit its mark. As the they turned to go outside, Severus called them back: "Be warned, Potter—any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

Sadly, it was an empty threat, he reflected as he strode off in the direction of the staff room. Dumbledore would never allow his _Chosen One_ to be expelled, and it was hard enough keeping the brat alive when they were both at Hogwarts. It was also hard keeping the brat alive when the person who wanted him dead was at Hogwarts, too, but of course, he had Albus Dumbledore to blame for that.

* * *

Quirrell was nowhere to be found. Severus had checked the Defence professor's office, his classroom, knocked on the door to his private quarters, gone to the staffroom and asked his colleagues—nothing.

He did, however, find a certain bushy-haired know-it-all standing outside the staffroom door, which only served to increase his annoyance.

"Miss Granger." He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was probably going to get a migraine soon. "What are you doing here?"

"Professor Snape!" she squeaked, eyes widening. "I was just waiting for Professor Flitwick, you see, I've been thinking about it and I'm almost certain that I misunderstood one of the questions on the Charms exam, the one about-"

"Stop babbling. I will fetch him for you." He _definitely_ had a migraine coming on.

Filius was only too happy to meet with Granger. Rolling his eyes, Severus left them to it, off to check the grounds.

_I'll never understand enthusiastic teachers._

* * *

He'd eventually given up looking for Quirrell and resigned himself to roaming the castle, thinking his way through every worst-case scenario in existence. The next time he saw the Defence professor, it was the man's deformed corpse he was looking at.

"You mean to tell me that the Dark Lord has been in the castle _all year?_ Hiding under Quirrell's turban?" Severus sputtered, looking incredulously at Dumbledore, who had brought him to the third floor for "assistance with disposing of the body."

"That does appear to be the case, yes," Dumbledore answered, much too calmly for Severus's liking.

"Bloody hell."

"You are certain that there is no lingering Dark Magic?"

Scowling, Severus ran a few quick tests. They came back clear. "I told you that you should have fired him, Dumbledore, I _told_ you."

"Yes, well, what is the saying: 'Keep your friends close and enemies closer?'"

"I think that 'too close for comfort' is more appropriate in this case," Severus retorted. "I can't believe that the Dark Lord has been right here all along and that you _knew."_

"I didn't know Lord Voldemort"—the burn from the Mark was only faint, but Severus winced anyway—"was possessing Quirrell."

"But you knew that Quirrell was working for the Dark Lord."

"I suspected," came the correction.

"Rather a strong suspicion, if you ask me. And what of the Potter brat? Where is he, basking in the sickening adoration of his fan club?"

"On the contrary, Harry unconscious in the Hospital Wing. Poppy says it will take a few days for him to come around; although he is technically unharmed, he's been through quite an ordeal."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose before grumbling, "Good thing he has such a talent for dumb luck. The obstacle course alone should have knocked him out."

"Ah, the obstacle course." Dumbledore seemed to brighten. "An impressive feat for three eleven-year-olds, is it not? I do believe they've proved themselves nicely."

"I think we already knew that they were capable of pulling off reckless, idiotic stunts, unless you've forgotten that little episode with the troll." Severus paused. Then, slowly, "What do you mean 'proved themselves?'"

"Thank you for your assistance, my boy," said Dumbledore cheerily. "I will handle things from here. I'm sure that you have exams to grade. You still make the first-years brew Forgetfulness Potion, don't you? Nasty little bit of irony that is."

Then he began to levitate Quirrell's body and walked away, leaving Severus standing there, grappling with a strong urge to hex him.

* * *

"Another year gone!" Severus still wanted to hex the Headmaster. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast."

 _Do us a favour,_ he thought, _sit down and shut up._ He was ill-tempered despite Slytherin coming in first for the House Cup.

"What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

_Most of them will take you up on that._

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

Cheers broke out from the Slytherin table. Draco even thumped his water goblet on the table, like some uncultured hooligan. It amused Severus to imagine writing Lucius about his son's tasteless behaviour.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin"—Severus could hear the 'but' in Dumbledore's voice—"however, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little. Severus narrowed his eyes.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First—to Mister Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years… I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Now it was the Gryffindor table that suddenly broke out in cheers. Percy Weasley turned to the other Perfects and began bragging about his little brother.

"Second—to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Severus grit his teeth. Dumbledore's intent was clear: Award enough points for the trio's recent adventure so that Gryffindor overtook Slytherin in the House Cup running. Slytherins did not like coming in second, and they _especially_ did not like having their triumphs pulled out from under them as a crowd looked on. If these points had to be awarded, it should have happened before the Feast. This was humiliating.

"Third—to Mister Harry Potter… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the even greater ruckus that broke out. "There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mister Neville Longbottom."

Severus was going to throttle Dumbledore as soon as the opportunity arose.

"Which means we need a little change of decoration."

Dumbledore clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Severus stood up to shake Minerva's hand. She was giving him a particularly smug look. In his periphery, he could see that a couple of his youngest snakes were on the verge of tears and were being covertly calmed down by the Perfects. His older students were tight-lipped, and some of their faces were flushed from embarrassment. Damage control was clearly in order.

He caught the Potter spawn's eye. What a pity it was that looks couldn't kill.

* * *

Dumbledore's apologies had been less than sufficient, and Severus still wanted to wring the old coot's neck. But he tried to ignore his own fury and remember what he'd told his students: "This is not a reflection on Slytherin House" _—it's merely the Headmaster being a bloody inconsiderate bastard,_ he'd wanted to add, but hadn't.

In any case, Severus was happy to see the little rug-rats packing their bags and boarding the carriages, off to annoy their parents for another summer. To his dismay, although he'd failed a number of the children, they all had strengths in other areas, which made up for their abysmal Potions grade and thus meant they didn't qualify for expulsion. Perhaps next year.

Sitting in his quarters with a glass of—well-earned, in his opinion—Firewhisky, Dumbledore's words of ten years ago echoed through his head again: _The Dark Lord will return._ To continue trying to fool himself into thinking it wouldn't happen would be sheer stupidity now.

There was another reason to hate Harry Potter: All was quiet for ten years, but as soon as the Potter spawn arrived at Hogwarts, Quirrell came back with the Dark Lord plastered to the back of his head. While it might have been a coincidence, Severus was inclined to believe otherwise.

If the Dark Lord returned, he would have to go back to spying. True, he was no longer an inexperienced twenty-year-old, but he didn't find the prospect any less daunting. Naturally, being a double agent was even less enjoyable than was being a regular Death Eater, and that really spoke volumes. In the past decade, Severus had grown accustomed to his somewhat-tolerable existence.

But, he supposed, he would cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, all he could do was go about his summer business as usual—brewing potions, revising lesson plans, the occasional social call to Malfoy Manor—and wait.


	17. A Fresh Start in Hell, Take One

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


**Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 62-64 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### A Fresh Start in Hell, Take One

Another school year was on the verge of commencing, and Harry Potter was nowhere in sight. While there could have been many reasons for this, the reality of it was that while the rest of the students had been on the Hogwarts Express, Potter had been flying over Britain in an enchanted Ford fucking Anglia, which likely belonged to the father of his sidekick, Ronald Weasley; Arthur Weasley was infamous for his obsession with muggle inventions—nobody else would have a bewitched car at their disposal.

The stunt had made the _Evening Prophet—FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES—_ which had been delivered as the teachers were gathering in the Great Hall before the Welcoming Feast. Understandably, it had caused a stir. Minerva's eyebrows had practically disappeared into her hairline, and considering that her hair was pulled back in a tight coil, that was quite the achievement. Upon the realization of Potter's and Weasley's absences, Dumbledore had sent Severus to watch for the boys.

He circled the courtyard, ranting to himself in his head, for he had better things to do than play search party. When he heard a crash and distant shouting, he began retracing his steps. Clearly, Potter and Weasley had arrived.

The Whomping Willow, which had previously been still, was lashing out violently, broken twigs falling to the ground. Some larger limbs had been ripped away and already lay fallen, and a large portion of the bark had peeled off. It appeared that the Gryffindors and their flying car had gotten into a bit of a fight with the tree. The miscreants were making their way up the front steps of the castle.

A hopeful, vindictive thrill went through Potions professor: The severity of this offence was such that Dumbledore might actually expel Potter. True, that would not be an ideal situation when it came to protecting the brat, but at that moment, the idea seemed most appealing.

The boys had their faces pressed up against a window that looked into the Great Hall and didn't hear Severus approach.

"… he's ill!" Weasley was exclaiming hopefully.

"Maybe he's _left,_ " suggested Potter, with equal enthusiasm, "because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job _again!_ "

Severus sneered, stopping behind them. He may have been irritated that Dumbledore still refused to give him the Defence position, even after all these years, but he wasn't going to throw a fit and resign over it.

"Or he might have been _sacked!_ I mean, everyone hates him-"

"Or maybe," Severus chose that moment to interject, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Potter and Weasley spun around. Both children wore looks of horror, and Severus gave them his best, predatory smirk.

"Follow me."

He led them down to the dungeons and into his office. They followed him with their metaphorical tails tucked between their legs. He noticed Potter eyeing the shadowy walls, lined with shelves of substance-filled jars, with apprehension. He smirked again before turning to face them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a _bang,_ did we, boys?" Dumbledore would probably disapprove of the wording if he heard what Severus was saying, but Dumbledore wasn't there.

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it-"

"Silence! What have you done with the car?" Severus unrolled the day's edition of the _Evening Prophet_ and brandished it in their faces. "You were seen. 'Two muggles in London,'" he read, "'convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower … at noon in Norfolk, Missus Hett Bayliss, while hanging out her washing … Mister Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police…' six or seven muggles in all."

He zeroed in on the ginger-haired boy. "I believe _your_ father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office? Dear, dear… his own son..." A pause. "I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow."

"That tree did more damage to _us_ than we-"

" _Silence!_ " For Merlin's sake, some people just did not know when to hold their tongue. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my house and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who _do_ have that happy power. You will wait here."

Dinner was underway and Dumbledore was immersed in a three-way conversation with Septima Vector, the Arithmancy professor, and Minerva.

"Headmaster, Potter and Weasley are in my office," he interrupted, lip curling. "Alas, they are in one piece, although my office may no longer be."

"Thank you, Severus. Why don't you go," Dumbledore said, nodding to Minerva. "I will join you shortly."

Half-joking though Severus had been, it was a relief that Potter and his sycophant had, for possibly the first time ever, done as they were told and stayed put. From the looks on their faces, however, they regretted their compliance.

"Sit," Minerva ordered. Severus may have been the much-hated, much-feared git of the dungeons, but Minerva McGonagall was not a witch to be trifled with.

"Explain."

As Weasley launched into a story about the barrier to the platform being blocked, Severus rolled his eyes. Intelligent people did not break multiple laws when deterred from their destination, they either waited for help or sought it out. Arthur and Molly would have come back through after seeing off their other rug-rats; Potter could have notified Minerva via his owl; there was any number of solutions that did not involve use of underage magic and risking the security of an entire population.

Minerva evidently agreed. "Why didn't you send us a letter by owl?" she asked, fixing Potter with an icy look. "I believe you have an owl?"

Potter gaped at her. "I- I didn't think-"

"That is obvious."

Severus hadn't seen Minerva so angry in a while, not even after the episode with the troll the previous year. This was fantastic.

A knock on the door prompted Severus to open it, revealing a Dumbledore who looked unusually grave.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."

Potter repeated what Weasley had told Minerva, staring at his shoes all the while. Good, so the boy had some degree of shame. His father sure hadn't had any.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Weasley sadly, after another long pause, during which Dumbledore simply peered at them with an unreadable expression on his face and disappointment in his eyes.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" Minerva asked, sounding tired of dealing with the issue.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?"

"Not today, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore answered. What a pity. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.

Did Dumbledore not remember to whom he was speaking? Of course Potter would do more imbecilic things, the boy thought he was entitled to let other people think for him. If the Headmaster was going to go about making such threats, he might as well just expel the pair now.

"Professor Dumbledore," Severus spoke up, "these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree… surely acts of this nature-"

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys' punishments, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "They are in her house and therefore her responsibility." He turned to the head lioness. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, here's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample."

Severus allowed himself to be herded from his office, but not without shooting Potter and Weasley a last look, filled with all the vitriol he could muster. They couldn't even make it one bloody day without inconveniencing him.

And so began another year at Hogwarts.


	18. The Chamber of Secrets

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 69-70, 94, and 106-110 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### The Chamber of Secrets

Dumbledore was amazing. Truly, the man had outdone himself. Never in the past decade had Severus had the misfortune of being on staff with a Defence professor so bloody _annoying._

"… beauty of education!" Gilderoy Lockhart was waxing poetic to nobody in particular. "Look at them, all bright-eyed and shiny-faced, waiting to see what we teachers have in store for them this year. I wonder, do they know how fortunate they are to be here? Hands-on experience is a wonderful thing—I learned so much on my exploits, of course I did—but school, that's where you learn the fundamentals, the things I learned at Hogwarts are like rare jewels, they're precious."

Dumbledore was busy reading the _Prophet,_ ignoring this display entirely. Minerva had finished her breakfast in record speed and excused herself, citing last-minute timetable preparations, although anybody who had been in the staff room with her late the previous night knew that timetables were already finalized.

"Is intelligence a tool you gained at Hogwarts?" Severus drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Because I do believe that jewel is so precious to you that you have locked it in a safe, never to be so much as glanced at again."

There was a sudden outbreak of muffled coughing from the other professors.

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore chastised, glancing up, "that was quite unnecessary." But his eyes were twinkling.

Neither Severus nor Lockhart got a chance to respond before Molly Weasley's irate voice filled the Hall.

" _Ronald Weasley, how dare you, stealing the car, I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd expelled you, you wait till I get hold of you, I don't suppose you stopped to think what your father and I went through when we saw it had gone, we went home, and when we received a letter from Dumbledore last night, I thought your father would die of shame, we didn't bring you up to behave like this, you and Harry could both have died…_ "

Severus smirked. Molly may have been the epitome of a mother hen, but she was a formidable witch, a formidable woman when enraged. Weasley deserved every word of this Howler, and from the expression on Potter's face, Molly's words were drilling a sense of guilt into his head, too.

" _... absolutely disgusted, your father's facing an inquiry at work, it's entirely your fault and if you put another toe out of line we'll bring you straight back home!_ "

Silence fell. The entire student body had turned to stare at the youngest Weasley boy. The red envelope in his hands burst into flames and disintegrated.

"Tut, tut," went Lockhart, as the noisy chatter of the hall climbed back up to its usual level. "A flying car is quite an entrance. I completely understand, of course—who wouldn't want to make such an entrance with me on the staff?" Severus caught Filius rolling his eyes at this. "I inspire people, I know that, with my fabulous adventures and the glamour of-"

There was a loud scraping sound as Pomona hastily pushed back her chair. "Well, I'll just be off to see about healing the Whomping Willow," she said, with a forced-looking smile. "I'd like to do that before my first class this morning."

"Ooh!" To her misfortune, Lockhart pushed back his chair as well. "I'll join you. You know, I encountered many rare plants on my travels, and I do seem to have a knack for healing things. Somebody once told me that I should have become a medi-wizard, but, well, I feel that teaching is my calling, helping those children who need a responsible role model like me. I leapt at the chance when Dumbledore offered me the job …"

Lockhart's voice faded away as he followed the Herbology professor, who looked distinctly unhappy about the company. The remaining faculty let out a silent, collective sigh of relief.

" _Thank Merlin_ Defence professors only last a year," remarked Severus, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "He'll be gone before June."

His colleagues all looked cheered at the prospect.

* * *

Over the next week, Severus accumulated quite a bit of information on Gilderoy Lockhart. Many of the snakes were as disgusted with the new professor as their Head of House was. It seemed that he had given all years the same test during their first class with him, which quizzed the students on what toothpaste he used, what his favourite colour was, what coat he wore in _Yetis on Yachts,_ and other inane details from his equally-inane books with the inane, alliterative titles.

"Who cares?" one of the sixth-year Slytherins had snorted back in the common room that day.

 _Who cares, indeed,_ Severus had thought.

He'd also heard that the man had unleashed a cage of Cornish pixies on the second-year class and then, when the bell rang, abandoned ship with the rest of the class. Honestly, some of his fifth-years had more sense than that, not to mention the ability to deal with Cornish pixies. Why Dumbledore had hired the fraud was a mystery.

Lockhart had apparently taken an interest in Potter, likely recognizing that the boy was—almost, although one could have a lengthy debate on that qualifier—as obnoxious and big-headed as he was. They had been on the front page of the _Prophet_ together a bit before the start of term, in Flourish and Blotts, and Potter had looked miserable. Even the Boy Who Lived seemed to find Lockhart too much.

The best part of this was the fact that Minerva was giving Potter detention with Lockhart as punishment for the incident with the flying car. Severus had tried not to look too thrilled when she mentioned it to him. While he still thought that Potter should have been facing much harsher consequences, he couldn't deny that detention with Lockhart certainly sounded like punishment to him; and, given that he had one day seen the boy wonder duck behind a statue to avoid crossing paths with the Defence instructor, Potter probably thought the same thing.

* * *

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Poppy was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students, and Severus was kept busy by her constant requests for more Pepperup Potion.

Aside from Potter and Weasley's bombastic arrival, the fact that Lucius had bought his son's way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team, and Lockhart's routine spewing of drivel, the term had been proceeding with a surprising lack of crises. Of course, the mundanity was too good to last.

The Halloween feast was just its usual misery: sugar, decorations, children, cheery people everywhere when there was absolutely nothing about which to be cheery. Anybody who enjoyed Halloween needed a reality check. It was after the feast ended that the real excitement began.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

A large crowd had gathered, students on their way back to their dorms. Standing at the front of the spectacle was the "Golden Trio," as they had been dubbed. Filch was next to them, having hysterics over his cat, who was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. Mrs. Norris was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. Granger looked disturbed, quite unlike her usual, hand-waving self, while Potter and Weasley looked shocked and uncomfortable. Draco, also at the front of the crowd, was grinning. Severus glared at him. Such an open display of emotion would get him into trouble.

" _Argus!_ " Dumbledore was quick to assess the situation and interrupt. He detached the cat from the wall. "Come with me, Argus. You too, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free-"

"Thank you, Gilderoy."

Severus exchanged a look with Minerva as they followed Dumbledore, trailed by the Trio and Lockhart.

The Potions Master had not been in the Defence office since Lockhart had been hired, and upon seeing it, he wished that Dumbledore had simply taken them up to his own office. The place was filled with portraits of Lockhart, who were evidently as vain as the real wizard was, for they all rushed out of sight when the party came in, their hair in rollers and hairnets. Severus couldn't help but curl his lip in disgust, noticing that Minerva had a similar look of disdain on her face.

Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris on the desk, leaning over to inspect her. Minerva followed suit. They spent quite a while examining the frozen cat, while Filch sobbed in the background and Lockhart prattled on with commentary that everybody ignored. Severus hung back, a wonderful thought occurring to him: He might be able to use Potter's unfortunate timing to get the boy into trouble.

"She's not dead, Argus," Dumbledore finally said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all—all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified"—Dumbledore ignored Lockhart's exclamation of, "Ah! I thought so!"—"but how, I cannot say."

"Ask _him!_ " Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to the Potter spawn.

The thought that Potter could have been capable of such magic was laughable.

"No second-year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly, echoing Severus's opinion. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced-"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat in response, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I'm a—I'm a… he knows I'm a Squib!"

_That is not a difficult deduction to make, with a bit of- oh right, most people don't possess logic._

"I never touched Missus Norris!" Potter said defensively. "And I don't even know what a Squib _is._ "

"Rubbish! He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Severus interrupted the argument before it could escalate. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

The three children broke into a jumbled explanation about Nearly-Headless Nick's Deathday Party.

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" Severus interrupted. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Granger and Weasley both looked at Potter.

"Because- because- because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."

"Without any supper? I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," Weasley said. His stomach promptly contradicted him by rumbling loudly.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," Minerva spoke up sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Severus rolled his eyes. Quidditch fanatics. Of course she'd say that.

Dumbledore gave Potter a searching look. Then, "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."

 _Damn._ It had been worth a shot.

"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch started shrieking again. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said, with astonishing patience. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Missus Norris."

Oh, more work for him. _Fantastic._ Although, he would rather do it than have-

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-"

"Excuse me," Severus said icily, "but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

There was a tense pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to the Trio, who all but ran from the room. He then sent Minerva to take Filch's cat to the hospital wing and update the rest of the staff, thanked Lockhart for the use of his office, and told Severus to meet him in fifteen minutes.

* * *

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," Severus said, huffing slightly at the password. The gargoyle moved aside, and Severus ascended the stairs.

Dumbledore was already there, standing in front of a bookshelf, his back to the door. "You don't honestly believe that Harry is at fault for Petrifying Missus Norris," he said without turning.

"No," Severus admitted grudgingly, "although he was acting guilty about _something._ "

Dumbledore made a noncommittal humming noise. "Tell me what you know of the Chamber of Secrets," he said.

Severus crossed his arms. "Only what legend says, that it was built by Salazar Slytherin, only to be opened by his heir, and that it holds a monster to eradicate muggleborns. The school has been searched many times, though, and there is no hint that such a chamber actually exists."

Finally, the Headmaster turned to look at the younger man. "True, but this was no school prank."

The small part of Severus which had been holding out hope for this to all be a tasteless joke vanished at the look on Dumbledore's face.

"I'm afraid we have a very serious problem on our hands."


	19. The Rogue Bludger

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 126-130 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### The Rogue Bludger

If Dumbledore harboured suspicions of who was behind the writing on the wall and the Petrification of Mrs. Norris, he was keeping them to himself. He'd called a staff meeting, instructing the faculty to remain calm but keep an eye out for anything unusual. To Severus alone, he had been marginally more specific, bringing in the phrases "powerful Dark Magic" and "Voldemort is not gone" and "tread carefully." Severus had snidely replied that he could have figured out that much for himself.

Something which he couldn't figure out for himself was why the _hell_ Dumbledore had hired Gilderoy Lockhart. He'd been badgering the Headmaster about it since the term began and had yet to receive anything more than ambiguous statements and vague hand-waving. There must have been a reason; Albus Dumbledore simply did not do "random." But this reason was rather a mystery, as Lockhart was arrogant, self-obsessed, useless, and utterly brainless.

Severus's colleagues seemed to share this opinion: There was often a mass exit when Lockhart came into the staff room, professors suddenly becoming very tired and leaving for bed, or realizing that there was a massive stack of papers they had forgotten to grade. On one memorable occasion, Minerva had shifted into her Animagus form when she heard Lockhart's loud voice in the hall, so she could sneak away without needing a justification. Seeing as plenty of students had cat familiars, it was a clever way to escape. Too bad she was the only one who could pull it off.

Lockhart was being even more annoying than usual today, if such a thing were possible. It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and he seemed to be under the impression that everybody wanted to hear about his supposed glory in intramurals.

"I was a brilliant Quidditch player," he was saying to Rolanda Hooch, who was very focused on stirring brown sugar into her oatmeal. "Of course, I still am, it's just that when you dedicate your life to fighting Dark forces, you don't have much time for games. But listen to me, if you ever find that the stress of coaching teams gets to you, don't hesitate to ask for assistance. I would be happy to give the kids a pep-talk, some tips and the likes. I know I have lots I could teach them."

"Were you on a Quidditch team when you were a student here?" Severus asked coolly, not looking up from the letter he was reading. In his periphery, he saw the rest of the faculty perk up. His mealtime interactions with the Defence professor had become routine and provided much entertainment.

"Of course I was, of course I was," Lockhart replied, "and our reputation skyrocketed."

"Then you should remember that Madam Hooch does not coach the individual teams. The Captains are charged with that task." Honestly, even Severus knew that, and it was no secret that he didn't like Quidditch.

Lockhart paused, eyebrows raised and a large smile pasted on his face. "Ah. Yes, of course. But"—he turned back to the flying instructor—"if you ever do find yourself needing help, or if any of the Captains come looking for help, do not be afraid to knock on my door. It's always open!"

"If one must knock on the door to gain entry, that implies the door is closed."

A collective fit of muffled coughing broke out around the table, and Lockhart, for a rare moment, looked at a loss for words.

* * *

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy day with a hint of thunder in the air. Cheers came from the Ravenclaws, Gryffndors, and Hufflepuffs in the stands, while boos and hisses could be heard from the Slytherins. Severus scowled disapprovingly. Quidditch was not worth losing one's cool over.

"On my whistle," said Hooch from the ground, "three… two… one…."

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upwards, the fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky. Potter, in his typical, reckless fashion, flew the highest. It wasn't long until a Bludger came streaking towards him. Severus's hand went reflexively to his wand, but Potter narrowly avoided the ball and George Weasley soon came to his rescue, knocking it towards Adrian Pucey. Severus was just about to relax when the Bludger doubled back and shot straight for the Gryffindor Seeker again.

Despite the Weasley twins' best attempts, this Bludger seemed to be determined to unseat Potter. To make matters worse, it began to rain.

"Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero," called Lee Jordan unenthusiastically.

Severus glanced around. Why was nobody _doing_ anything? Why did everybody pander to the boy but never actually try to keep him safe?—and Merlin knew Potter needed somebody to keep him safe. He had the self-sufficiency of a flobberworm.

Although it was a relief when Oliver Wood requested a time-out, the game resumed much too soon, the Bludger hell-bent on unseating Potter released again. No doubt the boy had insisted on playing, so as not to forfeit the win to Slytherin. He liked playing hero.

While Potter engaged in a series of dives and twirls to avoid the Bludger, Draco occupied himself by taunting Potter, rather than searching for the Snitch, that bloody Snitch. Somebody had to catch the thing, Severus didn't care who, but somebody had to catch the thing and end the game before the Boy Who Lived got himself killed.

Of course, that was too much to ask for.

"Shit," Severus swore under his breath. The people around him were panicking now, too.

The Bludger had smashed into Potter's elbow, and his right arm now dangled uselessly by his side. He swerved to avoid another hit, then took a sharp dive. Instead of landing as any sensible person would, however, he made a beeline for Draco Malfoy, who immediately careened out of his way. He reached up with his uninjured hand and plucked out of the air a small golden ball. The game was over. Potter descended and fell into a patch of mud.

"Aha, we've won," he said vaguely, before passing out.

It was a good time to go find Dumbledore.

* * *

As it turned out, Severus shouldn't have left. Of course, he'd thought that the Potter spawn would be safe in the care of Hooch and a smattering of other professors who had come to watch the game, but he hadn't take into account the obnoxious persistence of Gilderoy Lockhart.

Once again proving that he should not be entrusted with anything remotely important, Lockhart had managed to vanish all of the bones in Potter's arm. Poppy had done a poor job of hiding her irritation as she relayed this to Severus, giving him a heads-up that it might be wise to brew more Skele-Gro, as she had just given Potter four doses of the stuff, because of the sheer number of bones that Lockhart had vanished.

"Somebody should take that man's wand away," Severus had grumbled, and the matron hadn't disagreed.


	20. Serpensortia

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 140-146 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### Serpensortia

There had been another Petrification: Colin Creevey, a young Gryffindor who believed that the sun shone out of Harry Potter's backside. Personally, Severus didn't think that the boy's newly-frozen state was too bad; the hyperactive child was always bouncing about the Potions classroom, knocking things over and pulling focus, not to mention that the perpetual clicking of his muggle camera grated on Severus's nerves. This was an unpopular opinion which he decided to keep to himself.

That he no longer had to tell Creevey to put down the damn camera and get to work was only a minor perk, however. Dumbledore had called another staff meeting, and he had been as hard to wiggle information out of as always.

"The Petrification, of course, is no joke," Pomona had spoken up, "but the Chamber of Secrets is only a myth."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I assure you, my dear, that the Chamber of Secrets is real," he'd said, with absolute certainty, as though he knew more than he was letting on—typical. Then, "Do you have an estimation for when the Mandrakes will be ready?"

Outside of this, life was continuing as usual. Two weeks into December, Severus's second-year Gryffindor/Slytherin class highlighted this. They were attempting to brew Swelling Solution. It was going as well as could be expected, meaning abysmally.

"And once again, the great Harry Potter thinks himself above following the instructions," Severus sneered, looking down his nose at Potter's runny potion, which was not only the wrong consistency, but also seemed to be producing a faint blue vapour. He wouldn't say that it was worse than Longbottom's, though. Longbottom's potion was a sickly green-grey and seemed to be curdling.

Severus had just turned away to go berate Longbottom when a cauldron behind him exploded, and Gregory Goyle's Swelling Solution showered the whole class. People began shrieking, stumbling around with their hands and noses and feet swelling up, at risk for knocking over more cauldrons.

"Stop it this instant." His barked command got lost in the commotion. "Be quiet. Silence! _Silence!_ " The shrieking stopped. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught. When I find out who did this…"

When everyone had taken a swig of the antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Severus swept over to Goyle's cauldron. As he suspected, this wasn't the result of a mere slip-up. Slip-ups at this level weren't supposed to be quite so spectacular.

He scooped out the twisted black remains of what was obviously a firework, something on Filch's list of contraband. The noise level, which had begun to creep back up, suddenly dropped again.

"If I ever find out who threw this," he whispered, staring at Potter, who looked like he was trying to act innocent but still looked suspiciously uncomfortable, "I will _make sure_ that person is expelled."

His mood got worse when he entered his private stores that evening to find that someone had stolen Bicorn horn and Boomslang skin. He wondered if it would be possible to put Potter in detention every night for the rest of his life.

* * *

Four days later saw Severus in the Headmaster's office.

"A duelling club?" he said incredulously. "Lockhart wants to start a _duelling club?_ Albus, this is the man who vanished thirty-three bones of the bones in Potter's arm. I wouldn't trust him to look after a rat without parental supervision."

"The children will have fun. Perhaps they'll even learn something in the process. Sherbet lemon?"

"No."

"As a matter of fact"—Dumbledore unwrapped a sweet for himself—"he will, as you put it, have 'parental supervision.'"

"Oh?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Filius has volunteered to spend time with that preening moron?" The Ravenclaw Head was the obvious person, being a duelling champion himself.

"Actually, I was hoping that you would."

There was a long pause.

"No."

"But Severus, my boy-"

"No."

"-you said it yourself that Lockhart will need assistance, and don't you believe that if one wants a job done correctly, one must do it oneself?"

Severus opened his mouth to argue, to dispute this, and then closed it again. Damn the manipulative old wizard for using his own logic against him. Dumbledore wasn't half as senile as he pretended to be.

* * *

And at eight o'clock a few nights later, the children filed into the Great Hall, all carrying their wands and looking excited. Severus had been hoping that nobody would show up, so he could go back to his rooms and brood.

Lockhart walked onto the stage which had been set up in the middle of the Hall. Severus followed, staring daggers at the back of the man's head.

"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"

_Unfortunately._

"Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourself as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works."

_Nobody cares, you numbskull._

"Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Severus curled his lip. The only consolation was that he had explicit permission to draw his wand on Lockhart.

The two wizards turned to face each other and bowed. Lockhart's bow was decorated with much twirling of his hands, whereas Severus's bow was barely a jerk of his head. Then they raised their wands in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

_If you were worth life in Azkaban, I would be._

"One… two… three…"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Draco and some of the other Slytherins cheered.

_That was fun._

Lockhart got unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm—as you see, I've lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…."

The thing at which Lockhart was best was saving face, and he wasn't even particularly good at that. Severus was thoroughly tempted to curse him as he spewed his crap, but losing his temper like that wouldn't have set a good example for his snakes.

"Enough demonstrating!" Lockhart said, perhaps cluing in to the murderous look on Severus's face. "I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me…."

To Severus's delight, he reached the Golden Trio before Lockhart did. "Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter"—the boy moved towards Hermione—"I don't think so. Mister Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger, you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Severus felt a smug satisfaction knowing that Dumbledore couldn't complain about anything he did at this meeting, as he was the one who had talked Severus into doing this in the first place.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform, "and bow! Wands at ready! When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent— _only_ to disarm them—we don't want any accidents. One…two…"

Draco cast his spell on "two," and Potter stumbled backwards.

"Rictusempra!" he yelled as soon as he'd recovered.

A jet of silver light hit Draco in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd.

"Tarantallegra!"

Now Draco was on the floor laughing hysterically and Potter's feet were dancing, the rest of his body going along for the ride.

"Stop!" screamed Lockhart. "Stop!"

Severus took a step forward. " _Finite Incantatem!_ "

The mock duels of the rest of Potter's Gryffindor comrades had gone just as poorly. Both Longbottom and Justin Finch-Fletchley were lying on the floor, panting; Weasley was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus; Bulstrode had decided to make things physical and had Granger in a headlock. Potter strode forward and pulled the Slytherin girl away from his friend.

"Dear, dear," Lockhart said, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you get, Macmillan… careful there, Miss Fawcett… pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second Boot…

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells." Lockhart glanced back at Severus and then quickly away again. It seemed that he didn't want to go up against the Potions Master if offensive spells were guaranteed to be involved. "Let's have a volunteer pair—Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Severus cut in. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

He actually didn't know if this was true, as he had never seen the boy cast a spell, that he could recall, but it seemed a fair assumption based on the boy's dreadful potions.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" he suggested, figuring that he might as well enjoy this as much as possible, if he couldn't aim his own wand at Lockhart.

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart said, gesturing Potter and Draco into the middle of the Hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, you do _this._ " He raised his wand, attempted a completely unnecessary wiggling manoeuver, and dropped it.

_Does he even realize what an ass he makes of himself?_

"Whoops—my wand is a little over-excited."

Severus moved closer to Draco and whispered, "I assume your father has taught you the _Serpensortia_ spell?"

He took the Malfoy heir's smirk to mean "yes."

"Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?" Potter asked nervously, and Severus held back a snort. As if any instruction from Lockhart was going to be of use.

"Just do what I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

"Three… two… three… go!"

" _Serpensortia!_ "

The end of Draco's wand exploded, and a long black snake shot out of it. The snake fell heavily onto the floor between the two second-years and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the other children backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

"Don't move, Potter," Severus said, finding himself incredibly amused. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

People's attention was suddenly drawn from the snake to Potter, as he strode forward and began hissing. The snake slumped to the floor and lay there passively, eyes on Potter.

Severus felt like his stomach had just dropped to the floor.

After a stunned silence, Finch-Fletchley demanded angrily, "What do you think you're playing at?" and stormed from the Hall.

Moving almost automatically, Severus vanished the snake with a puff of black smoke.

Potter couldn't be a Parselmouth. He couldn't be. All of the known Parselmouths had been descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Potter was the resident Golden Boy, the poster child for Gryffindor arrogance and impulsive heroics. Both of his parents had been Gryffindors. It was in no way possible, and yet...

Shocked and suspicious muttering filled the room. Weasley, acting sensibly for once in his irritating life, took Potter by the arm and steered him towards the exit, with Granger following closely on Potter's other side. The crowd parted to let them pass, as though afraid of catching a nasty infection.

Severus left through the staff door and hurried back to his rooms. Alone again, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Well isn't this just bloody fantastic._


	21. Major Irritations

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!  


**Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 175-177 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### Major Irritations

The winter break hadn't been half as relaxing as it should have been, considering that the environment was mostly child-free. One of the reasons for this was the dual Petrification of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Gryffindor House's ghost Nearly Headless Nick, which had happened shortly before the holidays. To affect a ghost so was hardly a minor display of magic, and the staff was grim as they took this as further confirmation that something sinister was going on. They were no longer skeptical about the existence of the Chamber of Secrets.

Naturally, the Golden Trio was another issue. The idea that Potter was the Heir of Slytherin had taken a hold of the student body, and most of them had started going out of their way to avoid him in the halls. According to Pomona, her Hufflepuffs had all been scared silly of him since the incident with the snake. Although he had yet to find an alternative, logical explanation, Severus refused to believe that Potter was somehow descended from Salazar Slytherin. There was simply a piece to the puzzle that he hadn't seen—which was a maddening prospect, but better than thinking that there was any link between Slytherin and the Potter spawn.

In a rare instance of Potter not being the trouble-maker, Granger had arrived at the infirmary covered with fur and endowed with cat ears and a tail. It would take over a month to reverse. Poppy had paid Severus a visit to his private quarters that night.

"You don't teach second-years how to brew Polyjuice Potion, do you?" she asked.

"It may come as a surprise," quipped Severus, "but I am not half as irresponsible as that."

His mind went back to the Bicorn Horn and Boomslang Skin stolen from his stores. There was no doubt now that Granger was the culprit, having been absent during the explosion of the cauldron, being the only one of the three possessing enough wits to carry out a time-sensitive endeavour, and being a voracious enough reader that she would actually be aware of Polyjuice Potion's existence, unlike most other second-years. Severus suspected that the girl had even brewed it properly and that there had simply been a misunderstanding about what kind of hair she was actually putting into the cauldron. He might have been—grudgingly—impressed, if the whole thing hadn't begged the question of, _What in Merlin's name are they up to?_

Only slightly less migraine-inducing was the Malfoy family. Severus had accepted in invitation to Malfoy Manor for a post-Christmas, pre-New Year's dinner, and Lucius had been full of holiday cheer. This did not likely mean good things. An overly-cheerful Lucius made Severus almost as wary as did the combination of the Golden Trio and Polyjuice Potion. He suspected that his old friend's disposition had something to do with the Petrifications of all the muggleborns, which he must have heard about from Draco; Dumbledore had somehow managed to keep the news out of the _Prophet,_ which was a feat in itself.

* * *

The sun had begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. There had been no more attacks since those on Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, and Pomona was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

Even with this hope, Potter's peers were still treating him mistrustfully. Peeves, the castle's chaos-loving poltergeist, was having great fun with Potter's lack of popularity, floating through the halls singing "Oh Potter, you rotter…," now with a dance routine to match. Although he would never admit it, Severus found it quite amusing.

Under most circumstances, Severus might have considered either Peeves or the children themselves to be one of the most annoying things in the castle. This year, however, did not fall under the category of "most circumstances," for there was a certain fraud named Gilderoy Lockhart unfortunately employed in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, and Lockhart had a miserable idea of what was morale-boosting.

Severus had to work hard to keep the shock and disgust off of his face when he walked into the Great Hall the morning of February fourteenth. The place looked like cupid had eaten too many Valentine's Day sweets and didn't make it to the toilet before vomiting. Severus wanted to vomit himself.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling, and Lockhart was wearing robes of a similar offensive colour, blending in with the decorations. Severus exchanged furtive looks with some of the other, equally stone-faced faculty.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted, waving his arms for silence. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!"

Minerva looked like she wanted to claw out Lockhart's eyes.

Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors to the Entrance Hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

_Fucking hell._

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!"

_Over my dead body._

"And while you're at it," Lockhart continued, "Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Filius buried his face in his hands, and Severus put on his best scowl—it wasn't a difficult expression to form, especially in this moment—to convey that the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. He didn't even care that he'd go to Azkaban. Being around Lockhart was surely just as figuratively soul-sucking as being around the Dementors.

* * *

 

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into classes to deliver Valentines, much to the annoyance of the teachers. It was the primary topic of complaint in the staff room, and Aurora Sinistra was the envy of all, being the only professor who not subjected to the constant interruptions, as Astronomy was not taught until the evening.

Severus had, with outward calm, actually hexed one dwarf, who was delivering a particularly long Valentine and distracting his fifth-year class. Honestly, it was difficult enough trying to drill knowledge into the students' thick skulls without some singing, tenacious little menace invading the classroom. That the dwarf had been angry about being attacked was an understatement, but it did little more than glare at Severus before stomping away to find its next victim, not looking remotely cherubic.

The next time he saw Lockhart, he was going to spell the overexaggerated grin right off the pompous man's face. As a minor consolation, at least the children had had enough sense not to ask him for a damn Love Potion.


	22. Suspense

**Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 197-198 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ while writing this.

### Suspense

Severus would have put up with many things—grading twice as many abysmal papers as usual, contracting a particularly virulent strain of wizarding flu, perhaps getting his soul sucked out by Dementors—in exchange for not having to spend another day on staff with Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Of course, I could have gotten a mastery in Transfiguration,” Lockhart was saying to a tight-lipped Minerva, who had been trying to discuss a transfiguration article with Dumbledore, “but there’s only so much that one can do with one’s life, and I got a bit preoccupied fighting evil forces. After that, well, how could I selfishly take time out for a mastery when I could contribute to the betterment of the world?”

This was not quite as bad as yesterday’s breakfast-time monologue, during which Lockhart had proclaimed that the love spread by his magnificently-arranged Valentine’s Day festivities had subdued even the monster, the proof of that being the fact that nobody had been Petrified since Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick back before Christmas.

“Though, sometimes, I think it would have been better to do my mastery and settle into a happily-mediocre life, as you have chosen to do, Minerva, because let me tell you, there’s a dark side to fame that most people don’t even realize exists. It takes a strong character to shoulder all of it.”

Minerva looked as though she were considering turning into a cat and clawing Lockhart’s face off, and then turning around to rake Dumbledore over the coals for employing the man.

“For instance, I can’t go anywhere without being fawned over, can’t get any peace and quiet, always being asked for my advice. Of course, I’m happy to help the less knowledgeable-”

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” drawled Severus, not sounding sorry at all, “but I’ve reached my stupidity quota for the day, so I must ask that you _shut—up._ ”

“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore chastised wearily. These exchanges seemed to be thinning even Dumbledore’s bottomless pit of patience.

There was a pause. Then, completely disregarding everything that Severus had just said, Lockhart prattled on: “See, the thing about being an icon like I am…”

He couldn’t wait for the curse to activate. 

* * *

 

The Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match had been cancelled. Given all the shit that seemed to happen to Potter during the games, Severus couldn’t help but feel relieved, although the reason for the cancellation was nothing to be pleased about.

Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw Perfect, and Hermione Granger were the mystery monster’s latest victims. Dumbledore had made a brief speech to the entire staff and given instructions to patrol the corridors in pairs, before calling Poppy and the Heads of House up to his office.

“Needless to say, the Board of Governors is quite unhappy. They are threatening to close the school if the reason behind these attacks is not uncovered soon.”

No doubt Lucius was one of the main people pushing for Hogwarts to close. Severus’s former mentor was always looking for ways to damage Dumbledore’s reputation, and closing the school while citing Dumbledore’s inability to keep matters under control and safe would certainly do that.

“If it’s any consolation, the Mandrakes should be ready soon,” Pomona said, although she didn’t look particularly consoled herself.

“That is wonderful, Pomona,” Dumbledore replied quietly, “thank you. Severus, how long will it take to brew the potion?”

“The initial brewing is complicated, but once complete, the potion requires only twenty-four hours to set.”

Thank Merlin Lockhart had not been invited to this meeting; the man would probably be jumping in with how he had discovered the secret to brewing it better.

“Very good.” Dumbledore nodded. “Now, there is one more piece of information I wish to impart before you all go: Minerva says that Miss Granger was found clutching a mirror.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Granger was far from being a vain girl, more interested in books than in her looks, so the idea of her carrying a mirror around was unusual. She must have had another reason for it, besides checking that her face had not somehow become uglier in the ten minutes since she’d last checked, as Severus often saw some girls do.

“If anybody knows why this may have been, please tell me.

“You may go.”

* * *

 

_Dear Severus,_

_I’m terribly sorry for not stopping by to say hello, but my presence was required elsewhere, and imagined that you had enough on your plate as it is. Draco tells me that the entire castle is in an uproar. I hope that the lesser people with whom you are forced to surround yourself are not being too much of a nuisance._

_You have, of course, heard the good news: We have—that is, the Board of Governors—at last managed to suspend the sentimental fool who runs this wreck of a school. As you know, I have been pushing for this since I was appointed, temporary suspension being half a stepping-stone away from permanent suspension. It feels nice to see the fruits of my long-standing effort. Perhaps the next Headmaster will actually be decent, and not such a muggle-loving believer in the prevailing Light; I doubt that Minerva McGonagall, undeniably skilled witch though she is, will last long in the position. In fact, you yourself could apply. At the very least, you value worthwhile ideals, unlike the rest of them, and would be a marked improvement._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

* * *

 

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But the steady progression of Mother Nature did not stop the fear from spreading. The sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn’t look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.

As far as Severus knew, Dumbledore had not been in contact with any of the faculty, and nobody knew where it was that he had disappeared and how he was passing the time during his suspension. Minerva’s time was largely consumed with teaching, the mountains of paperwork that Dumbledore had left behind, and trying to keep the student body from erupting due to anxiety. Her colleagues usually only saw her briefly each day, at mealtimes, or in passing, shepherding students between classes, something which they were all doing, much to Severus’s annoyance.

In the midst of it all, there was one person who seemed to be having a grand time.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” Draco Malfoy remarked to Crabbe and Goyle one day in Potions class, not troubling to keep his voice down. “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst Headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent Headmaster now. Someone who won’t _want_ the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long, she’s only filling in….”

Lucius must have been sending letters filled with similar sentiments to Draco as the one he’d sent Severus, as Draco’s words seemed to be merely an echo of Severus had been hearing from Lucius.

Severus swept past, making no comment.

“Sir,” Draco called. “Sir, why don’t _you_ apply for the Headmaster’s job?”

This was _definitely_ an idea parroted from Lucius. Severus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Hopefully, Draco would learn one day to form his own opinions. Merlin only knew subscribing to others’ beliefs had never done Severus any good.

“Now, now, Malfoy,” Severus said, giving a small, cold, smile for pretense. “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I dare say he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

If not, they were going to be in even bigger shit than they were in already.

“Yeah, right,” Draco answered. “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job. _I’ll_ tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir.”

Severus’s thin smile grew into a smirk as he walked on. Luckily, he had reached the opposite end of the classroom by the time Draco’s next words reached his ears, the words which would have caused the smirk to vanish abruptly from his face if he were not so good at concealing his emotions.

“I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now. Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn’t Granger.”

It was another stroke of luck that the bell rang the moment Draco finished speaking, and Severus didn’t have to try teaching a class after hearing that word.

_Mudblood._

Severus was no fan of it. It had ruined his only friendship and set off a chain reaction of other, worse events. Of course he disliked—detested—the word. That word had essentially ruined his life. He acted in loco parentis of the children of the most blood-purity-obsessed families in the wizarding world, but the word and its associations never got easier to hear.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back against the desk of the now-empty classroom.

_Bloody hell._

He didn’t need this today.


	23. In for the Worst

**Warnings:** none  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 211-218 of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets while writing this.

### In for the Worst

"Are you feeling all right, Minerva?" Pomona asked as the elder witch arrived halfway through breakfast one morning, her robes looking a bit wrinkled and her hair wasn't coiled as tightly as was customary for her. "You look like you were up half the night."

"Yes, well"—Minerva shot an irritated look at Lockhart, who was busy pestering the Astronomy professor a little ways down the table—"as a matter of fact, I was up half the night doing damage control, thanks to that buffoon over there."

Pomona pursed her lips in sympathy. Severus was surprised that Lockhart hadn't tried to flat-out take over as interim Headmaster while Dumbledore was gone; the man's "helpfulness" seemed to have increased tenfold, much to the dismay of the rest of the faculty.

"What did he do?" asked Filius.

"I recently discovered that he had started sending out letters to parents, 'reassuring' them that although the school is in a state of 'train wreck,' the worst of the danger is past and there should be no further Petrifications or deaths, and that he is doing his best to help the less capable correct the damage."

Severus bit back the urge to snicker. The only thing at which Lockhart might be better than any of his colleagues was preening in front of a mirror for hours on end.

"The parents were rather upset by the mention of deaths, as they hadn't heard anything about this. Of course, there have been no deaths, that is merely an exaggeration he made, presumably to make himself look better, as if he's been fighting off the monster single-handedly." Minerva paused to take some deep breaths. "I got bombarded with letters demanding to know the full story."

They all turned their heads to look at Lockhart.

"… wrote a fantastic paper on Jupiter's ninety-four moons."

"Jupiter has sixty-seven moons."

"Yes, just as I said."

"I made him take over the fourth-floor patrol from me last night," Minerva continued, "so I could start on correcting the wealth of misinformation he'd sent out. He wasn't very happy. He went on about how unnecessary it was."

Severus sneered. "The real train wreck here is Lockhart's continued employment."

* * *

It was three days before the start of exams, at the end of May, that Minerva stood up to make an announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

"Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

"Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Oliver Wood, the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

When the hubbub had subsided, Minerva said, "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

But the drama was not to be resolved so quickly.

"Bottle your potions and place them on my desk," Severus told his fifth-year class later that day. "If any information has managed to stick in those empty heads of yours, your potion should be pale blue, opaque, and chalky on the surface, while liquid and transparent underneath."

He glowered disapprovingly as the children began to line up with their potions. To his exasperation, about a third of the class had vials filled with some substance that certainly did not fit the description he had just given.

They were packing their bags for their next class—which Severus unfortunately had to walk them to, as though a few less rug-rats running around would be a bad thing—when Minerva's amplified voice came echoing through the classroom.

"All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."

For a moment, the students all froze, exchanging wild-eyed looks of panic.

Severus was already striding towards the door. "Well?" he barked. "What are you waiting for? Class dismissed!"

It seemed like an eternity before the door opened and the interim Headmistress came through. You could have heard a pin drop.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the chamber itself."

Severus's only reaction, having opted to stand rather than sit—he would've liked to pace, but he didn't feel like doing so in front of the other teachers—was to grip the back of a chair very hard. "How can you be sure?" he asked quietly, although he knew that Minerva was not one for spreading false alarm.

"The heir of Slytherin left another message." The blood had drained from the Head Gryffindor's face, leaving her pale and grim-looking. "Right under the first one. 'Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.'"

The collective breath that the teachers seemed to have been holding was suddenly released as Filius burst into tears. Pomona looked like she was about to follow suit, and Rolanda slowly sank, weak-kneed, into a chair.

"Who is it?" Rolanda asked. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley."

Even Severus, who was no fan of the Weasley clan, found himself disturbed by this. Perhaps it was just the apparent lack of logic that bothered him: Miss Weasley was a pureblood—a "blood traitor," but a pureblood nonetheless. There were plenty of muggleborns in the school, and while a few had been Petrified, none had been straight-up abducted. If there was a reason for the Weasley girl's implied death, they weren't seeing it.

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," Minerva said, sounding less and less collected. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said-"

The staff room door banged open to reveal a beaming Lockhart, who seemed not to notice that he was suddenly on the receiving end of many baleful looks.

"So sorry—dozed off—what have I missed?"

Severus stepped forward. "Just the man. The very man," he drawled. "A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

For once, the intention behind Severus's words did not go over Lockhart's head, and the man blanched.

"That's right Gilderoy," said Pomona, quickly catching on. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I- well, I-"

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" Filius added, having recovered from the bout of tears.

"D-did I? I don't recall…"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," Severus said.

"Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

"I… I really never… you may have misunderstood…"

Severus had never seen Lockhart look so alarmed. It was fantastic.

"We'll leave it to you then, Gilderoy," Minerva said. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. His lower lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usual toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and pathetic.

"V-very well," he said at last, "I'll- I'll be in my office, getting- getting ready."

And he practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to escape.

Good riddance.

"Right. That's got him out from under our feet." Minerva spit out the pronoun as though spitting out an earwax-flavoured Every Flavour Bean. "The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories."

Following this, there was a heavy silence. Then, one by one, they left the staff room.


	24. One Mystery Solved

**Warnings:** Swearing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### One Mystery Solved

There had been mixed reactions when Severus made the announcement of the school's impending closure to his snakes. Some, like Draco, looked as though they were enjoying the pandemonium; others looked as upset as one might expect them to look. The divide in opinions between those from Dark families and those from Lighter families had existed when Severus was a student in Slytherin House. Some things never changed.

After giving the students strict instructions not to leave the common room and entrusting the younger ones to the care of the Perfects, Severus had retreated to his office, where he was greeted by a letter.

_Dear Severus,_

_I hear that Hogwarts is closing in the morning—a pity, that. It was Arthur Weasley's daughter who was killed, yes? Ah well, I daresay that the Weasleys have enough children to go around. That aside, the obvious solution would be to expel all of the Mudbloods, and perhaps the half-bloods as well, just to be safe; there would be no need to close the school if the problematic students were simply removed. But those muggle-loving, Light-side colleagues of yours have never demonstrated much sense, have they? I really don't know how you stand it. The other governors give me similar headaches, although they do respond quite quickly if presented with a particularly_ persuasive _argument._

_Why don't you come over to the Manor some time? Cissa is itching to play hostess again, and with no exams to proctor, you should be able to fit it into your schedule._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Severus had angrily shoved the page in a drawer, to be dealt with at some point in the unfortunately-near future. None of the contents was shocking or new coming from his former friend—the use of the offensive name, the comments about the Weasleys and half-bloods, the implication that he had been blackmailing the other governors—but Severus didn't have the patience for it right then.

After that, he'd spent the majority of the day in his private lab, finishing up the Mandrake juice potion and sending it off to be delivered to Poppy via house elf, and proceeding to brew just to blow off some steam. He was tidying up when a silvery phoenix Patronus appeared before him, surprising him so much that he accidentally dropped a tin of dried clover.

" _Come to my office, Severus. There is much to be discussed."_

* * *

"Severus, my boy! Sherbet lemon?"

Despite scowling, he couldn't help feeling relieved at the sight of the old Headmaster. "No. When did you get back?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "A few hours ago," he said merrily, "after all governors but one sent me frantic owls requesting that I return."

Severus could guess which governor was the exception.

"They had some very interesting things to say," Dumbledore continued. "Seems Lucius Malfoy threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to my suspension—as a matter of fact, I recently got a visit from Mister Malfoy. He was rather peeved and stormed off after being found out on a couple of, ah, _indiscretions_."

Severus hoped that he wouldn't be getting a letter about this.

"A _couple_ of indiscretions?"

"Yes, apparently he gave Ginny Weasley a cursed diary, which then possessed her and caused her to open the Chamber of Secrets."

There was a pause, during which Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too late to be dealing with revelations like this.

"Voldemort had stored the memory of his adolescent self in the artifact and enchanted it to write back to whomever wrote in it. It was through Miss Weasley that he managed to open the Chamber and set free the Basilisk within."

"And what," said Severus with his eyes still closed, "has been done with this information?"

"Oh, Harry has already slayed the Basilisk, destroyed the diary, and rescued Miss Weasley."

While Severus doubted that the story was so simple, he also doubted that he'd get more details. This was Albus Dumbledore, after all, and getting information out of Dumbledore was like trying to wring water from a rock.

"Potter. Of course. A year is not complete unless Potter has pulled at least one of his crazy stunts."

He wondered if there was any point in trying to protect the boy when the dunderhead went looking for heroic danger, as if being the bloody Boy Who Lived wasn't impressive enough for him, as if he really needed more attention.

"His 'crazy stunts' seem to be rather successful."

"That is thanks to sheer dumb luck, Albus, and let's not forget the incident with the flying car just yet. I suppose you've rewarded his idiocy."

"Two-hundred points each to Harry and Ronald Weasley seemed appropriate."

"Fucking hell!"

"Language, Severus."

The Headmaster's continued approval was just going to reinforce the boy's inflated sense of self, which wasn't something that Potter particularly needed. He was already big-headed enough. Just like his father.

"You do realize that you're just enabling him? I understand that most children get into mischief, but this goes far beyond that. Potter thinks he's capable of facing off incarnations of the fucking Dark Lord, for goodness' sake. He is _twelve,_ Dumbledore, and has as much self-preservation as a tadpole. If you're going to encourage him in this, I don't even see the point in keeping an eye on him. In fact-"

"Oh, before I forget," Dumbledore interrupted the younger man's rant, "there's some more news that I daresay you may rather enjoy hearing."

"What?" Severus asked suspiciously.

"Gilderoy is in St. Mungo's. He was hit by his own backfired memory charm and doesn't have a clue who he is."

Severus blinked. Then, after the initial surprise had worn off, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Speaking of inflated self-esteem, Lockhart had certainly had that and more. It seemed a nasty twist of fate that he should forget who he was and what he claimed to be.

"Harry and Ronald went to him when they figured out the truth about the Chamber."

_They miraculously had the sense to go to an adult, but they chose_ that _adult. Good grief._

_"_ It seems that Gilderoy made his fame off Obliviating witches and wizards and taking their stories for his own. Unfortunately, when he went to do the same to our two young Gryffindors, he made the mistake of using Ronald's broken wand, which had its own ideas."

"Yet again your talent for picking Defence teachers shines through," Severus sneered, although he wasn't about to complain. It served the annoying bastard right.

* * *

The feast held to celebrate the resolution of the Chamber of Secrets debacle was possibly one of the noisiest feasts that Severus had ever been to. Gryffindor won the House Cup again, to his irritation, and Minerva stood up to announce that exams had been cancelled as a 'treat,' which was entirely unnecessary, in Severus's opinion. The only good part of the entire night was Dumbledore informing everybody of Lockhart's forced resignation. A big cheer went up at that. Some of the faculty even joined in.

Severus did receive another letter from Lucius, who was outraged at having been caught out and sacked from the Board of Governors, and Draco seemed to be sulking on his father's behalf; but besides this, the remainder of the term passed peacefully. It was much nicer without a Basilisk roaming the halls and Petrifying people. It was also much nicer without Lockhart.

After the children had boarded the train to go home for the summer, Severus had pestered Dumbledore for more information about what went down in the Chamber, but the other wizard had said precious little. Another question that Severus was itching to find an answer to was why Lucius had the cursed diary in his possession in the first place; however, it was definitely a bad idea to approach Lucius about it. Not only would it be a difficult conversation to navigate, but with the blonde aristocrat in such a foul mood, Severus thought he might just find himself on the wrong end of Lucius's wand.

So the most information that Severus got was that Dumbledore's sources told him the Dark Lord was hiding in the forests of Albania.

Hiding in Albania. Clearly, the Dark Lord wasn't hidden enough, if he was infiltrating Hogwarts two years in a row. Severus hoped that this wouldn't become a trend, but he knew the fact that it had happened at all didn't bode well for the years to come.


	25. Bad News and Worse News

**Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

### Bad News and Worse News

Although he had no desire to be have the entirety of wizarding community out for his blood, angry about the death of their esteemed leader of the Light, Severus was thoroughly tempted to kill Albus Dumbledore. Said leader of the Light acted like he was so interested in keeping Harry Potter safe, but then he went and did things like _this._

"Dumbledore." The Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose. _Merlin help me._ "There is a mass murderer on the loose, a mass murderer whom we suspect is after Potter. What do you mean he is staying in Diagon Alley for the next three weeks?"

"Diagon Alley is well-populated and well-protected," Dumbledore answered, "and I daresay that Harry may be happier to remain in the wizarding world for the rest of the summer."

"Because god forbid the boy actually have to deal with consequences for once in his life," snarked Severus in reply. "And I hardly think that The Leaky Cauldron counts as 'well-protected.'"

Apparently, Potter had blown up his aunt with "accidental" magic, though Severus wasn't convinced about the "accidental" part. Knowing Potter, he had probably just done it for a lark, and Severus thought that the Dursleys had every right to be upset. But the boy had run away, caught the Knight Bus—an awful method of transportation, that was—had been discovered by Cornelius Fudge, and then told to stay at the inn. Severus wasn't clear whether this had been Dumbledore's brilliant idea, or if it was the Minister's, and Dumbledore simply happened to agree. In any case, it didn't matter. Severus knew that Dumbledore had set up a myriad of special protections on Privet Drive; meanwhile, The Leaky Cauldron had none.

"Tom has agreed to keep an eye on him, and it will be very well-protected with Glamoured and Polyjuiced Order members casually frequenting the premises. I'm sure you will be happy to hear that I did not give you the first shift."

"Yes, I'm so bloody grateful. As a matter of fact, I was wondering what I'd do for the next three weeks with no Potter to babysit. It isn't as though I have potions to brew or lessons to prepare for."

"Sherbet lemon?"

"No."

"While you're here, there are other matters to discuss." The Headmaster unwrapped a candy for himself. "First of all, the Dementors."

Severus's scowl deepened, if that were possible. The Ministry had decided to send Dementors to guard the school against the threat of Sirius Black. Regardless of the fact that Dumbledore had put his foot down when it came to letting the creatures into the school itself, everybody was doubtlessly going to be extra miserable until Black was caught. That was, after all, one of the most powerful effects of Dementors.

"Times are still tense. It is essential that your cover remain intact, that your-"

"Yes, yes, I am well aware," Severus interrupted impatiently, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Just because there will be Dementors around, does not mean I intend to start casting Patronuses every time I go outside. I wasn't born yesterday, thanks."

A truly Dark wizard couldn't conjure a Patronus. Being able to do so didn't serve his political ambiguity.

"Then the second order of business. I will be announcing this at the staff meeting tonight; however, I thought it pertinent to give you forewarning: I have finally tracked down a new Defence teacher." Dumbledore unwrapped another sherbet lemon.

"And what have you found this time?" Severus drawled.

"Remus Lupin."

There was a pause. Then, "And here I was expecting you to tell me you've hired a yeti or a three-armed cannibal"—he let out a humourless laugh—"but no, nothing that dramatic, just some arse who turns into a bloody _werewolf_ once a month."

"Now Severus," Dumbledore reprimanded, peering sternly at the younger man over his half-moon spectacles. "I know that you and Remus have a rocky history, but the past is the past. You are both adults and have the capacity to be mature about this. I do not ask that you become friends, but I would like you to be civilized."

Severus stood abruptly, giving Dumbledore his best glare. "My history with Lupin aside, you must be deluding yourself if you think it is a wise idea to bring that man here when his old cohort has recently escaped Azkaban. How do we know the wolf doesn't have anything to do with it? What has he even been doing since the Potters' deaths?"

"Remus has been living in the muggle world for the past decade," said Dumbledore, calm as ever. "It was actually quite difficult to track him down. I believe that Sirius's betrayal shocked him to the core, and I have every faith that he has nothing to do the escape from Azkaban. Remus was always the most responsible of the friends."

"And Black was always one of Minerva's favourites," Severus said darkly. "Looks can be deceiving."

Dumbledore's voice sharpened slightly. "Enough of this, Severus. You must put old grudges behind you. We need a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Remus was more than happy to take up the opportunity. It will not be as bad as you think, my boy," he added, softening again.

 _Hmph._ Severus didn't feel particularly inclined to respond to that. "Do you have any more wonderful news to impart?"

"Oh yes, I was wondering if you could brew Wolfsbane for Remus."

He slammed the door on his way out.

* * *

 _I hate my life,_ thought Severus as he took inventory of the school's supply cupboard.

It would have been enough that Black had somehow gotten past the Dementors of Azkaban and was now running around looking to decapitate Potter—"He's at Hogwarts," Black had reportedly been muttering in his sleep—not to mention that the Ministry's solution of setting Dementors upon the school for "protection." But of course, Dumbledore always had to throw some extra special hell into the mix.

What was the muggle saying, "hindsight is 20/20?" That seemed applicable to the whole of Severus's life. A certain fourth-year incident, involving a Whomping Willow and a werewolf, stuck out in his mind. At the time, he had been fascinated by the idea that there was a dangerous beast on the grounds, masquerading as a student, and very interested in catching a glimpse of the wolf.

It horrified him now. He had, objectively, been unusually mature for a child—one did not get much of a childhood in the Snape household—but he certainly hadn't fully understood what it meant to be a werewolf and the possible pitfalls of one attending Hogwarts. As an adult, however, he did understand the full weight of the situation. In addition, his aversion was not helped by the fact that the Dark Lord had been very interested in recruiting werewolves for his own nefarious purposes.

And Dumbledore was letting not only a werewolf teach, but this particular werewolf teach: Lupin, who happened to have been in cahoots with Potter and the recently-escaped mass murderer Sirisu Black—at least Severus wasn't going to be the only faculty member who'd had terrible taste in friends as a student; Lupin, who hadn't been as bad in school as had been Black and Potter senior, but who had been made a Perfect in fifth year—an attempt, Severus supposed now, to keep his friends' antics to a minimum—and done a poor job of exerting any sort of control; Lupin, who had the chance to make some people's lives less miserable, but did nothing; Lupin, who, with his _condition,_ probably shouldn't have been anywhere near a scholastic institution.

Severus snapped shut the notebook he was carrying, now filled with barely-legible, angrily-scrawled notes on what ingredients had to be restocked before the new term.

After the Gilderoy Lockhart fiasco, Severus had thought that Dumbledore couldn't possibly find a worse Defence teacher—a narcissist with a fondness for memory charms was, after all, pretty bad. Turns out, he'd been wrong.

This year was going to be even worse than the last.


	26. A Fresh Start in Hell, Take Two

**Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 44-45 and 71-73 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

### A Fresh Start in Hell, Take Two

 _This is ridiculous,_ Severus thought, resisting the urge to scratch at the collar of his robes, which were itchy and nothing like what he would usually wear—which was, unfortunately, the whole point. _I have better things to do than watch Potter eat ice cream._

The other Order members were no doubt thrilled to spend a day trailing Potter through Diagon Alley. Severus was not. In fact, the idea of walking away and leaving Wonder Boy to fend for himself held much appeal, except that there would be hell to pay if anything did happen to him and Severus hadn't been where he was supposed to be.

Potter had been in Diagon Alley for over a week, and this was already Severus's third shift. The boy seemed to have a routine: He would eat breakfast at the inn, and then go wander about the shops. He typically did his homework sitting outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, ingesting sickening amounts of sugar. Severus hoped that he wouldn't get back a Potions essay sticky with the melted confection. That would just be plain disgusting.

A few days ago, Potter had made a detour to Quality Quidditch Supplies. There was a crowd of excited witches and wizards standing outside the front display. Severus had already seen the sign as he was passing through earlier. There was a new broomstick out, supposed to be the fastest in the world, or some other claim like that. Severus couldn't bring himself to care; his dislike for all things broomsticks and Quidditch was still going strong. But the boy was fascinated by the broom and went out of his way to gaze longingly at it in the subsequent days.

To Severus's relief, Potter also displayed some practical sense and purchased supplies for the next school year. Severus was most interested in following Potter to the apothecary, of course, but the trip to Flourish and Blotts also proved entertaining.

"Hogwarts?" Severus—who had wandered in behind the boy and was pretending to browse the arithmancy section—heard the manager ask breathlessly.

"Yes. I need-"

"Get out of the way."

Behind the bookshop's window sat a large iron cage, which held about a hundred copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters._ Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.

Rubeus Hagrid was the new Care of Magical Creatures professor. Unlike the appointment of Remus Lupin, Hagrid's new position didn't cause Severus's blood pressure to rise, it merely caused him to roll his eyes and sigh with resignation. While there was no question that Hagrid loved his magical creatures and would be eager to share with the students, there was also no question, in the Potions professor's mind, that the gamekeeper would be a rotten professor. Meaning well didn't count for much; when the rubber hit the road, the children were probably going to be losing limbs right, left, and sideways.

"Hang on," Potter hastily stopped the manager. "I've already got one of those."

"Have you?" The man sounded enormously relieved. "Thank heavens for that, I've been bitten five times already this morning-"

Severus turned as a loud ripping noise rent the air. Two of the _Monster Books_ had seized a third and were pulling it apart. Care of Magical Creatures, he mused, looked like it was shaping up to be more dangerous than Potions. At least he, despite hating the students, didn't assign a dangerous textbook, although killing off the reprobates before the term even started was a fun idea to entertain.

"Stop it! Stop it!" the manager cried, poking his walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of _The Invisible Book of Invisibility_ —cost a fortune, and we never found them."

Severus grit his teeth to keep himself from laughing. People with no foresight really could be very amusing.

"Well, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes." Severus turned back to the arithmancy books, pulling out one at random to look at the back cover. "I need _Unfogging the Future_ , by Cassandra Vablatsky."

He froze.

"Ah, starting Divination, are you?" The sound of retreating footsteps.

Sybill Trelawney was still the Divination professor. Severus did not care what electives Potter took; it did, however, make him feel strange to think that Potter would be studying with the woman who had produced the prophecy. Thinking about it tugged at his guilty conscience, for some reason.

Annoyed with himself, he replaced the book and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not a useful line of thinking. He turned his attention back to the other side of the store.

"Let's see now… _Intermediate Transfiguration…_ "

It was another ten minutes before the boy walked out of Flourish and Blotts, scatterbrained and bumping into people. Severus followed him back to The Leaky Cauldron, where he pretended to read the newspaper for the next two hours, before handing off the next shift to Nymphadora Tonks.

* * *

The start of the new school year approached quickly, and Potter was soon enough collected by the Weasleys and deposited on the Hogwarts Express. Remus Lupin was coming directly from muggle London and would also be on the train. With any luck, the train would spontaneously combust on its way to the castle.

Unfortunately, the trouble that did come didn't involve a permanent delay. Severus was in Dumbledore's office with the other Heads of House when a small owl pecked at the window.

Dumbledore retrieved the note from the bird. "From Remus," he said as he returned to his desk.

Severus sneered automatically, earning him a look of disapproval from his Gryffindor counterpart.

"It appears that Dementors searched the train, and Harry reacted poorly."

All those children and Potter was the one who caused a fuss. Typical.

"Is he all right?" Minerva asked.

"It seems he passed out," Dumbledore replied, "but is relatively unharmed."

"Pity," remarked Severus, and Minerva shot him another dirty look.

"I can get Poppy to look over him before the Feast—I must speak with Granger about her Time Turner anyway—but I'll need somebody to cover the Sorting for me."

Dumbledore turned to the Potions Master. "Severus-"

"No."

"I'll do it," Filius, thankfully, volunteered.

"I want to know why there were Dementors on the Hogwarts Express," Pomona spoke up, the corners of her mouth turning down.

Dumbledore sighed. "Rest assured, my dear, I did not give permission for that; but Dementors are not easy to control."

"They shouldn't be here at all," said Filius indignantly, as though everybody in the room didn't already share the same opinion. "Is there really no way to change the Minister's mind?"

Severus didn't listen to Dumbledore's reply. This conversation had been had many times over, and the upshot of the matter was that this year was going to be dreadful.

Of course, the school year was always dreadful. That was nothing new.

* * *

"Welcome!" said the Headmaster, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think I best get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast.

"As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

There was a pause. Severus sensed his colleagues bristling at this announcement, despite having already discussed the issue in length and being used to the idea.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not fooled by ticks or disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks."

Severus made a mental note to ask Dumbledore about the Invisibility Cloak comment. He would probably need a drink first, though.

"It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Perfects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs foul of the Dementors."

There was another pause. Then, "On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year: Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Severus couldn't stop himself from fixing Lupin with a venomous look. He had been trying to ignore Lupin all evening, and despite the man's cool politeness and fact that he looked as though he'd been living in a bus shelter for the past ten years, Severus hoped that Peeves dropped a very large rock on the werewolf's head.

"As to our second new appointment, well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Since being removed from the Board of Gonvernors, Lucius was less informed about the inner workings of Hogwarts, but that didn't mean he was any less opinionated; he would probably have some choice words on the matter of Hagrid's appointment, and he would probably share these with Severus.

The applause was much bigger for Hagrid, and once it had died down, Dumbledore gave a smile. "Well, I think that's everything of importance," he said. "Let the feast begin!"

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Severus pushed steamed carrots around his plate, intermittently glancing over at the Slytherin table and glaring at all the non-Slytherins who accidentally caught his eye.

_This is hell: welcome back._


	27. Drama in the Classrooms

**Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 94-98 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

### Drama in the Classrooms

The first day of classes had been dreadful: Potions was surpassed by Care of Magical Creatures when it came to accident-proneness. Hagrid had introduced his first class, the Gryffindor/Slytherin third years, to Hippogriffs, which were large creatures with sharp claws and pride bigger than the sun. Flobberworms might have been wiser on an introductory curriculum.

Draco had gotten his arm cut by the Hippogriff and had, predictably, pitched a massive fit. Severus had taken initiative both as the boy's Head of House and an acquaintance of Draco's father, writing Lucius to explain the situation as diplomatically as possible. He left out his personal opinion that it was Draco's own fault for baiting "Buckbeak," as Hagrid had affectionately named the animal.

Severus had been hoping that Lucius wouldn't cause too much of a fuss—there was already far too much drama going on, as far as he was concerned—but to no avail.

_Dear Severus,_

_I have said this before and will no doubt continue to repeat it in the future: I find it truly appalling what Albus Dumbledore gets away with. An oaf like Rubeus Hagrid should not be placed in any position of authority, especially not one that requires sensitivity and attentiveness. Personality-wise, he is disorganized, irresponsible, and oblivious; compounding this, he was expelled during his third year, making him unqualified from an academic standpoint as well. And, of course, he is a half-breed. The Board should never have approved of this. Merlin's beard, who knows what will be next?_

_I am sure you understand, my friend, that I will be taking action. This sort of thing was to be expected, but it really is poor form to have that much negligence at the first class. I did not like this from the moment I heard that Hagrid would be teaching and that Draco would be in his class. I appreciate the personal notification you sent of my son's injury; the official school report was far too sugar-coated for my taste._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

* * *

It was Thursday now, and Severus was suffering through another Gryffindor/Slytherin double Potions class. He had, again, tried to convince Dumbledore not to put those two Houses together, but the Headmaster had, _again,_ paid him no attention.

The class was well underway when the door opened and Draco came swaggering in, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling. Severus literally bit his tongue to stop himself from letting out a snide remark about attention-seekers. Madam Pomfrey had undoubtedly done a fine job of patching Draco up, so there was need for neither the melodrama nor the tardiness.

"How is it, Draco?" asked Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah," the blonde boy replied, moulding his face into what he probably thought was an expression of endurance, but what the Potions Master thought just looked sullen.

"Settle down, settle down," Severus said, looking down at some parchment on his desk and managing to sound remarkably disinterested.

From his periphery, he could see Draco set up his cauldron right beside Potter and Weasley. He sighed inwardly. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the antagonism between Draco and the Gryffindors—he didn't want it happening in his classroom, when the students were trying to make Shrinking Solution for the first time; then again, perhaps the opportunity to take points would present itself and make this worth the headache.

"Sir," Draco called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," Severus instructed, without looking up.

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," he heard the Weasley boy hiss.

"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots."

There was a lull in the dialogue. Then, "Professor, Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

He got up and approached the table. He stared down for a moment at the roots—Weasley's had been carefully measured and cut, whereas the ones the boy had cut up for Draco were haphazard and entirely unsuitable—before smirking.

"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley," he said.

"But sir-!"

"Now." The righteous, outraged look Weasley's face was quite comical.

"And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned," Draco added.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's Shrivelfig."

Although he gave the Potter spawn a loathing-filled look as he moved away, his eye had been caught by something far more troublesome: Neville Longbottom. The Shrinking Solution was supposed to be a bright, acid green. Instead, this potion was—

"Orange, Longbottom," Severus said, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see for themselves. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

The cherub-faced boy looked like he was on the verge of tears. It gave Severus some vindictive satisfaction.

"Please, sir," Granger piped up, "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," Severus interrupted coldly, and she turned as pink as her fellow Gryffindor had. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."

He moved away, hearing Longbottom plead, "Help me!" to Granger. But yet another, more interesting, discussion swiftly caught his interest: "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, that's right," replied Potter flippantly.

"Of course"—the blonde Slytherin lowered his voice—"if it was me, I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."

_For Merlin's sake, don't goad him, Draco; Potter is harebrained enough without your help. Don't make my job harder by encouraging him to go off on another wild, death-courting adventure._

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Weasley demanded.

"Don't you _know_ , Potter?"

"Know what?"

Of course Potter didn't know! There was absolutely no benefit to Potter being informed on the matter—and Dumbledore would never want to scare his Golden Boy with the gruesome details anyway. Draco, on the other hand, had heard a plethora of stories from his father.

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck. Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

" _What are you talking about?_ "

Enough was enough.

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now," Severus called, effectively putting an end to the boys' talking. Most of the students looked to be done anyway. "This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's."

But by the time the classroom was tidy again and Severus was holding a small sample of Longbottom's potion, he could already tell that it was likely to work. The colour was right, as was the texture. Granger had done a good job of righting that wreck of a concoction. Severus might have appreciated the girl's intelligence and ability, if it weren't for that incessant hand-waving and obnoxious answer-screaming, which the other teachers all seemed to adore; she had even been granted a Time Turner in order to double book her time table, a decision that Severus still viewed as more than a little unwise. The girl was, after all, only fourteen.

"Everyone gather around and watched what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." He didn't mention that the poisoning wouldn't be fatal. It was more fun to keep the children in suspense.

Picking it up with his left hand, Severus trickled a couple drops of the green concoction down the toad's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, and then there was a small _pop,_ and the toad became a tadpole wriggling in Severus's palm.

The Gryffindors broke into applause. Lips thinning, although he wasn't surprised, Severus administered the antidote and handed the once-again fully-grown familiar back to Longbottom.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said, causing all the smiles to drop. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

He was grateful that he had no more classes until after lunch.


	28. Old Rivalries

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 117-121 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

### Old Rivalries

"… still causing trouble for those who have the misfortune to associate with him. He hasn't changed one bit since were students."

Severus, as he often did, stood in front of the Headmaster's desk, arms crossed, a scowl on his face; and as was also often the case, Dumbledore was not entirely attentive to what the Potions Master had to say, his head buried in a large stack of correspondence.

"I think you're being a bit uncharitable, my boy," said Dumbledore without looking up, in that vague tone which Severus hated. "It's unlikely that there was any ill intent. He couldn't have predicted what would happen."

Lupin had given his third-year class a practical introduction to Boggarts. Although forcing a bunch of teenagers to reveal their deepest fears to each other didn't seem entirely wise, Severus had qualms with neither the subject matter nor the teaching style. He did, however, take issue with the fact that Longbottom's greatest fear had turned out to be him, and that the boy had dealt with the Boggart by imagining him in Augusta Longbottom's atrocious clothing. The story had spread throughout the school, much to the entertainment of both the student body and staff. Minerva had even teased him about it when he sat down for dinner that evening. He did _not_ like being laughed at. Lupin had made no comment on the matter, but Severus was certain that he took pleasure in the incident.

Before he could form a biting response to Dumbledore's placating, the other wizard changed the subject: "On an unrelated note, please keep an eye out for suspicious activity as the thirty-first draws near. Things seem to have a nasty little way of happening around Halloween."

"I feel that the 'thing,'" Severus responded dryly, "most likely to happen this Halloween is Potter getting himself lost, abducted, or killed at Hogsmeade."

"On the contrary, Harry won't be attending. Minerva tells me that his aunt and uncle neglected to sign his permission slip."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And what about the Invisibility Cloak, Dumbledore?" He'd had his suspicions since the Welcoming Feast, when the Headmaster had made a comment about Invisibility cloaks and looked directly at Potter. That Potter possessed a Cloak made sense; the brat had an uncanny ability to sneak around where and when he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, I hadn't realized you were aware of that," Dumbledore said unconcernedly, with that damn twinkle in his eyes. "In any case, I believe that between the presence of the Dementors and the good influence of Miss Granger, the risk of Harry sneaking out is low. And if need be, you and Remus will still be in the castle."

"I am not going to babysit Potter, if that is what you mean to imply. Besides"—Severus's lip curled up in a mocking sneer—"I will be preoccupied that day with finishing the potion for dear Lupin's _affliction._ Now if that is all-"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you could take Remus's classes for him while he is unable."

Severus slammed the door on his way out. He seemed to be making a habit of that.

* * *

 

Although he cared little for the werewolf's appointment at Hogwarts, cared even less for the man himself, and was irked by the extra jobs that Dumbledore lay on him, Severus did enjoy his extra time in the lab. Wolfsbane was a fussy potion, highly sensitive to the slightest imperfection in ingredients, temperature, or timing. The successful brewing of it required one's complete and unwavering concentration. It was nice to have the uninterrupted time to himself, and it was nice to have something to focus on other than how his past felt far too close to his present.

Severus put his cauldron under Stasis and ladled some of the still-smoking liquid into a goblet. Unfortunately, he now had to track down Lupin and tolerate him long enough to deliver the potion. He supposed that he could send it off via house elf, but though house elves were useful and possessed some powerful magic of their own, he was disinclined to trust them with this errand, simple as it was.

He grudgingly made his way to the Defence professor's office. Indistinct voices, which stopped upon Severus's knock, came from inside.

"Come in," called Lupin.

The scene inside made Severus pause. Potter sat across from Lupin, one hand curled around a mug of tea. Why it bothered him, he didn't know. Maybe it was the lingering suspicion that Lupin had something to do with Black's escape from Azkaban and the possibility that he wished Potter harm also, or maybe the sight of Lupin and a Potter together just reminded him too much of childhood.

"Ah, Severus," Lupin said, smiling, as though there were good will between them. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

Eyes narrowed and wandering between Potter and Lupin, Severeus set the goblet down. It was still smoking faintly.

Lupin pointed to the tank in the corner of the room. "I was just showing Harry my Grindylow."

"Fascinating," Severus said, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will."

"I made an entire cauldronful if you need more."

"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all." It took a great deal of restraint not to say the words sarcastically.

* * *

The Great Hall that night had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily acros the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

The students were in even higher spirits than usual, already being sugared up with sweets from Honeydukes. Severus wouldn't have scheduled a Hogsmeade weekend for the same day as the Halloween feast if it were up to him. He didn't see why anybody would want to endure _hyper_ hyperactive children for that long.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.

When at last the Hall began to clear, Severus couldn't help but feel that they had gotten off too easy this year—Dumbledore had been correct when he said that shit always seemed to hit the fan on October 31st.

It didn't take long for his cynicism to prove correct. Severus was answering a brief question from one of his Perfects when an upper-year Gryffindor came sprinting over to the staff table, exchanged a few words with Dumbledore, and hurried away again with the Headmaster in tow. Severus, after sending his Perfect off to the Slytherin common room, also followed, along with Minerva and Lupin.

The corridor to the Gryffindor Tower was jammed with students, who had shuffled back to make space for Dumbledore. They appeared to have been stunned into silence.

Dumbledore turned as his three professors approached. His eyes did not twinkle.

The Gryffindor House guardian portrait had vanished from her frame. The canvas had been slashed so viciously that strips of it littered the floor; great chunks had been torn away completely.

"We need to find her," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" A cackling voice caught everybody's attention.

It was Peeves the poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry. Severus grit his teeth.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, and Peeves's grin faded a little. Even he didn't dare taunt Dumbledore.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir," said the ghost in an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. "Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful." Peeves brightened at this thought, then added unconvincingly, "Poor thing."

"Did she say who did it?"

"Oh yes, Professorhead." Peeves had the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."


	29. Furthering Suspicions

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 121-129 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

### Furthering Suspicions

There was a widespread look of confusion across the student's faces as they followed their Head of House back to the Great Hall. As per instructions from Dumbledore, only the Perfects had been pulled aside and debriefed, and one look at Severus's scowling face was enough to prevent questions from even the boldest of Slytherins.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore announced once everyone had gathered, as Minerva and Filius closed the doors. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the Perfects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbances should be reported to me immediately. Send word with one of the ghosts."

He paused. Then, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing…." One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the Hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of plush purple sleeping bags. Severus had to roll his eyes at the choice of colour.

"Sleep well."

The ghosts remained, floating around as silvery guards and messengers on standby. The teachers were divided up and sent to search the castle for any trace of Black. Severus went off to patrol the third floor, accompanied by Aurora Sinistra, the Astronomy professor.

The break-in, Severus mused as they prowled the corridors, wands half-raised, seemed to happen at an awfully convenient time. Not only was everyone preoccupied with the Halloween festivities, but the teachers were also tired after the outing to Hogsmeade. And then there was the presence of the dementors to keep in mind.

In the previous years, the events which had occurred had occurred because they'd been facilitated by someone—or something—on the inside: Quirrell had let in the troll, and a possessed Ginevra Weasley had opened the Chamber of Secrets. In Severus's mind, the stellar timing indicated that Black had an accomplice, and who else but Remus Lupin could be a more likely candidate? Compounding this, Lupin had not been present at the Feast, as is _affliction_ made him tired.

Severus pressed his lips together. He would take up the subject with Dumbledore again, although Merlin knew the man was unlikely to listen or care.

It was several hours later by the time Severus and Aurora had finished their extensive search of the third floor. Aurora went to find Pomona, while Severus returned to the Great Hall to report back to Dumbledore. He met Minerva on the way.

"We found the Fat Lady," she informed him briefly as he passed, "hiding on the second floor. Her friend Violet has joined her from another portrait, but she is inconsolable."

Inside the hall, the students were asleep, or at least pretending to be. Percy Weasley stood next to Dumbledore, probably trying to make himself feel more important by conversing with the Headmaster.

Dumbledore turned when Severus announced himself.

"The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either."

"What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched…." Privately, Severus thought that nobody could ever be mad enough to voluntarily hide in the Seer's room, but he knew it had been checked regardless.

"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?"

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."

He raised an eyebrow. "You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before—ah—the start of term?" he asked, under his breath, aware that Weasley was listening intently.

"I do, Severus."

"It seems almost impossible"—he ignored the warning in Dumbledore's voice—"that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed-"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it." The conversation was closed, and there was a pause, during which Severus didn't reply. "I must go down to the Dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

"Didn't they want help, sir?" asked Weasley.

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster."

Severus watched him leave, fuming over being casually dismissed yet again. Then he, too, left.

* * *

Sirius Black remained the talk of the school for the next few days. The students, being the imaginative group of reprobates that they were, entertained themselves by sharing wild theories about how Black had gotten into Hogwarts. Pomona complained one day that she'd to shush one of her Hufflepuffs repeatedly during Herbology, because the girl was telling her gullible, distractable classmates that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.

Thankfully, by the time Severus was substituting for Lupin, the worst of the chatter had died down. He was enumerating some of his colleague's flaws when the door opened and Potter came skidding in.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I-" he came to an abrupt stop upon realizing that it was the Potions Master behind the desk.

"This lesson began ten mutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

But Potter didn't move. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," Severus replied, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile, half-smirk. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

"What's wrong with him?"

_Defiant little brat._

"Nothing life-threatening. Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."

Finally, Potter took a seat.

"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far-"

"Please, sir," Granger piped up, "we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows, and we're just about to start-"

"Be quiet," said Severus coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," Dean Thomas dared to counter.

"You are easily satisfied." Severus's tone was soft and menacing. "Lupin is hardly over-taxing you—I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows." This was not entirely true, but he didn't see the harm in some exaggeration.

He opened the textbook and began flipping the pages to the very last chapter. "Today we shall discuss werewolves."

They had all, of course, made an implicit promise not to "out" Lupin when he'd been hired, but that didn't mean Severus couldn't drop hints. Besides, he figured none of the students would catch on anyway; he merely took pleasure in the thought that they _could,_ on the off chance that they were attentive for once.

"But, sir," Granger persisted, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks-"

"Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four." Nobody moved, and he looked around, glaring. " _All_ of you! _Now!_

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" he asked when books had finally been opened.

Granger's hand, predictably, shot into the air the moment the question left his mouth. Although he knew nobody else would have the answer—nobody else had read the entire textbook halfway through the first term—he ignored her. He didn't call on or praise her during Potions class and he wouldn't do it here. Not being the star pupil once in a while hadn't killed her yet and given how hard she continued to try, it probably wouldn't any time soon.

"Anyone? Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between-"

"We told you," said Parvati Patil, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on-"

" _Silence!_ " Silence fell. "Well, well well," Severus continued, quietly, as though talking to himself, "I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…."

"Please sir"—Miss Granger again—"the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf-"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

At this, the bushy-haired girl went very red, withdrawing her hand and dipping her head.

"You asked us a question and she knows the answer!" Ron Weasley said loudly. "Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

Weasley quickly found himself the sole recipient of Severus's glare, and the entire class seemed to hold their breath.

"Detention, Weasley," Severus said, leaning in close. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson, which was fine with him. He prowled through the rows as the children made notes from the assigned reading, inspecting and making snide comments about work previously completed for Lupin.

All in all, aside from the initial obstreperousness, Severus considered it to be quite a productive class.


	30. Dementors and a Heart-to-Heart

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. (Couldn't think of a good title for it, so that may change.) Please review!

**Warnings:** none

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 130-134 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

###  **Dementors and a Heart-to-Heart**

****

The weather was a force to be reckoned with, and unfortunately for the students, there was a Quidditch match to be played. It was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, a change from the original plan, which had been Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Slytherin had pulled out because Draco was still moaning about his arm. They'd conveniently not been able to find someone else to play Seeker, so the Slytherin team was sitting on the sidelines, happy to not be flying in the terrible conditions.

Despite said terrible conditions, the whole school turned out to watch the match, such was the popularity of the sport. They ran down the lawns towards the pitch, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. Those who knew the spell cast warming charms on themselves.

The wind was so strong that the players staggered sideways as they walked out onto the pitch. The combined noise of the crowd and the thunder quickly made Severus feel as though he were developing a nasty migraine. It was difficult to see through the heavy rain, and Severus actually pitied the players. If it were up to him, he'd have cancelled the match entirely.

The sound of Madam Hooch's whistle only just managed to penetrate the wall of sound created by the storm. Lee Jordan's commentary was lost entirely. Severus kept his eyes on Potter, who took a moment to steady himself on his broom. While his teammates did their best with the Quaffles and the Bludgers, he flew backwards and forwards across the pitch. Severus suspected that he couldn't see anything through the rain.

A flash of lightning coincided with another shriek from Madam Hooch's whistle. Wood had called for a time out. Severus recast his warming charm.

It was shortly after the break when a chill began to seep through Severus's body, making his bones feel heavy and achy. He felt like his head was filled with fog. Time seemed to stall.

_Dementors,_ he acknowledged vaguely, forcing his eyes to focus on the dark shapes below. They blended into the gloom, but there must have been at least a hundred of them, collected on the pitch, directly below Potter.

Severus stood as Potter wavered, and then fell, his broom immediately swept away by the wind without its owner's weight to stabilize it. At the same moment, Dumbledore ran forward from wherever he'd been spectating. He waved his wand once to slow Potter's fall and a second time to repel the Dementors. The silver Patronus which emerged was incorporeal, but so vast and powerful that the Dementors fled without hesitation. The cold, oppressed feeling disappeared.

Severus felt his skin crawling, a feeling he did not often get, as he'd become desensitized to events which others might find disturbing. All those dementors in such close proximity made him feel like he was back in Azkaban, where he'd spent some time after the Dark Lord's downfall and before Dumbledore had convinced the Ministry to let him go.

The stands and field alike erupted in pandemonium. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's Seeker, had caught the Snitch, so the match was over, although it would have been over regardless. Dumbledore bent down over Potter while the boy's Gryffindor comrades flocked around him. Some morbidly-curious onlookers were also trying to press closer, and though Minerva tried to shoo them away, they only retreated when Severus descended and threatened to assign detentions.

Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and levitated Potter onto it. He straightened, looking more incensed than Severus had seen in a while. "Severus, Pomona, Filius, see to it that there are no Dementors wanderings elsewhere on the grounds. Those things should never have ventured so close in the first place." Then he walked away, followed by Minerva, magicking the stretcher along in front of him.

* * *

Thanks to Dumbledore's swift interference, Potter was only slightly worse for the wear, although Poppy insisted on keeping him in bed for a week. His broom had not been so lucky: Filius had spotted its remains lying beneath the Whomping Willow as they were patrolling the grounds. The old tree had taken great exception to being run into by a broomstick. Taking pity, the Ravenclaw had collected the pieces and brought them back inside.

The Dementors had not strayed from their positions outside the front of the castle since the incident. The background threat of Dumbledore's fury—and his powerful Patronus—seemed to be enough to keep them at bay for the time being. Severus suspected that the Headmaster had again tried to persuade Fudge to remove the blasted things.

As it was, Draco had made it his life's mission to taunt Potter about the lost Quidditch match and the boy's apparent poor reaction to the Dementors. His arm had conveniently healed in time for him to perform spirited imitations of Dementors in the middle of Potions. Weasley had finally thrown a crocodile heart at the Slytherin boy, which hit him in the face and provoked Severus to take fifty points from Gryffindor. If he could, he would have taken five points from Draco for causing a disruption around a corrosive combination of ingredients, the dunderhead.

* * *

A knock at the door interrupted Severus in his grading.

"Enter."

To his surprise, Lupin came in. He'd been expecting a student with some complaint or other. Of course, chances were that Lupin did have a complaint to make, so the latter part of his expectation was probably accurate.

"Hello, Severus," Lupin said politely.

"Whatever you want, I haven't got the time for it," Severus replied, not as politely.

"I see. Well, I'll be brief."

_Merlin help me. Can't the man take a hint?_

"I assume you had a good time teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts while I was away?"

"I haven't revealed your little secret, if that is what you mean to accuse me of," Severus snapped, understanding where this was going.

Lupin stared at him for a moment before pointing out, "You did assign a lengthy essay on werewolves—which, might I add, they do not have to write."

"None of the little dunderheads are astute enough to gather any meaning from the lesson, and as the event has already occurred, I fail to see why you are raising the issue with me."

"I appreciate that you brew Wolfsbane for me"—Lupin took a deep breath—"but I didn't appreciate the risks you took in your teaching. That was taking it too far, when I have done my best to be civil towards you and put the past behind us."

"I am not interested in having a heart-to-heart with you, Lupin. Go cry to someone who cares."

Severus returned his attention to the parchment in front of him. There was a pause, and then he heard Luipn's footsteps retreating and the door clicking shut.

_Good riddance._


	31. Christmas

**Author's note:** I made it through my summer courses, woo! This means I have July and August for my own projects, and I am putting this story near the top of the list. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 168-172 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ while writing this.

### Christmas

Life was relatively calm until the winter holidays arrived. It started with Hagrid wailing over the fate of Buckbeak, the hippogriff that had slashed Draco's arm earlier in the term. Severus had gone to see the half-giant, following up on an inquiry about procuring thestral saliva, and found himself greeted by an inconsolable mess. Draco's complaint to Lucius had turned into Lucius's complaint to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, who were probably going to execute the animal because nobody on the board wanted to cross someone who had the money and social status of Lucius Malfoy. Severus had extricated himself from the clutches of a sobbing Hagrid without bringing up the reason for his visit.

* * *

 

The next episode occurred on Christmas day. Dumbledore had asked the house elves to replace the House tables in the Great Hall with one big table in the centre of the room. Dumbledore and the four Heads were the only teachers present, the others having gone home to go partake in festivities with their families. Filch, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather mouldy-looking tail coat, was also there. The only students in attendance were two extremely nervous-looking Ravenclaw first-years, Jeremy Shafflow from Slytherin, and Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore, as the three Gryffindors approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables. Sit down, sit down!"

To the Potions Master's exasperation, Dumbledore proclaimed, "Crackers!" and enthusiastically offered him the other end of a large silver one. Severus took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture. Severus pressed his lips together and wordlessly pushed the thing over to the Headmaster, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once. It looked atrocious.

"Tuck in!" he advised the table, beaming.

Severus was taking a drink of water, trying to contain his distaste for the whole affair, when the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding forwards as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress, in honour of the occasion, Severus supposed, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore said, standing up.

"I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster," Trelawney declared in that misty, dramatic, pretentious airhead voice of hers, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…"

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me draw you up a chair."

With a wave of his wand, a chair materialized in the air, revolving for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Minerva and Severus, much to the former's annoyance and the latter's horror. Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a soft scream.

"I dare not, Headmaster!" Severus half-expected her to clutch her chest and toss her head back as though in some trashy soap opera. "If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sybill," Minerva said impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Minerva poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.

"Tripe, Sybill?"

Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and asked, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore replied, whilst indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas day."

"But surely you already knew that Sybill?" Minerva said.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva," Trelawney said, giving her colleague a very cold look. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal."

Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal-gaze for him-"

"Imagine that."

Although Trelawney got on his nerves, Severus found the exchange very entertaining. After all, it was not he who was dealing with the Divination professor, and it was fun to see Minerva's feathers ruffled.

"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to the conversation, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the Potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Good. Then he should be up and about in no time. Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."

From that point, Trelawney behaved almost normally, until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. It was Potter's and Weasley's standing up that prompted her to shriek loudly, "My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno," Weasley said, sharing a wary look with Potter. Oblivious though they were, the boys seemed to pick up on the fact that Trelawney was a basket case—although anyone with half a wit would be able to pick up on that.

"I doubt it will make much difference," Minerva interjected coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall."

Weasley and Potter took that as their opportunity to shuffle out. Miss Granger lingered.

"Professor McGonagall," she spoke up, "may I speak with you in private?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows slightly, but was disinclined to refuse her young charge, rising from the table and saying, "Of course, Miss Granger. Come with me."

As she walked away, Trelawney shook her head mournfully. "Bad things," she said, "I see bad things in her future."

"Oh, do us a favour and shut your mouth," grumbled Severus, stabbing at a piece of cherry pie with a little more force than necessary and ignoring the affronted look the witch gave him.


End file.
